


We Three Kings

by kisahawklin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: And there's a lot of Sastiel in there, And undercurrents of the Wincest throughout, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cooking, Drinking Games, Excessive Drinking, Family, Fluff, Food, Food Fight, Gift Giving, Graphic Description, Hangover, Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Holidays, Homophobic Language, Insecure Sam, M/M, Mentions of Rape, Multi, Never Have I Ever, Oblivious Castiel, Paranoia, So please know they all love each other and need to just work things out to get to the polyamory, Starts off with Destiel, Vomiting, friends - Freeform, mentions of torture, mindfuckery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 22:56:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 80
Words: 127,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5558756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kisahawklin/pseuds/kisahawklin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year's worth of holidays that tells a story of unconditional love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Christmas Eve

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stefy_coool](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stefy_coool/gifts), [HeyJessie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyJessie/gifts).



> Apologies for everything. This is late, it's a little off from your prompts, stefy_coool, and honestly, probably the first chapter in a fic series about Wincestiel Christmases. Also, I caught the flu over Christmas, so there is a distinct chance it's nonsensical. Apologies if that's the case; I'll try to make it up to you. Happy belated Christmas!
> 
> ETA: I have been thinking about this fic a lot over the last few days, and how I want to get it where it was trying to go, and I've decided to do it as a serial, through a year (or more) of holidays. They'll get there, it's just going to take a little time. So, stefy_coool, hopefully this is the gift that keeps on giving!
> 
> ETA2: So, these are U.S. holidays, mostly, with a few international ones thrown in here and there. They're not all holidays the Winchesters celebrate, though some of them are. Some of them are just silly and fun and there to get my timeline into shape. Some of them are patently ridiculous and had to be included because omg DADGUM THAT'S GOOD DAY seriously, how do you say no to that?
> 
> ETA3: Adding HeyJessie as a recipient, because the idea for this story is most definitely from a prompt I got from her AGES ago (for a birthday present I have not yet managed to produce), so she definitely gets a boatload of credit.

~~~

Sam sneezes, wiping his nose on his sleeve before opening the last box. There are some lights in this one, though god only knows if they'll actually work. He pulls them out, a tangled mess of course, and pokes through the rest of the box. Roughly half of the nativity scene made it through the years unscathed, which should go perfectly with the third of a Christmas village and couple of pieces of unbroken Santa's workshop knickknacks. There's a fine powder of glittery dust at the bottom of this box, same as all the others – all that's left of the delicate ornaments that were packed away haphazardly. 

He salvages what he can into the least beat-up boxes and carries them into the war room. They've moved the map table aside to make room for the tree that Cas has insisted on. The tree is still alive – sitting in a pile of dirt in the center of the room. Sam isn't sure he wants to know how a tree can survive like that. It's creepy enough that he can see the roots peeking out from under the tree skirt. They move once in a while, stiff, brown tentacles that make his skin crawl.

"Well, what've we got here?" Dean asks, poking through the boxes. He grabs the lights off the top of the first one and plugs them into the nearest outlet; they light up fine – huge, brightly colored bulbs that are no longer in fashion. He starts untangling them as Sam pulls out the various bits and pieces of Christmas nativity village workshop. Cas sets them up carefully, lining up the stable with Santa's elves next to the quaint snow-covered house with Joseph and a camel inside. The manger is in Santa's workshop, with an ice-skating little girl attempting a precarious arabesque in the trough.

They try stringing popcorn, but it keeps breaking apart in Sam and Dean's too-tight grips, so instead they string Froot Loops and Apple Jacks and rope those around the tree instead. The ornaments are whatever happens to be hanging around – spark plugs and kitchen implements and probably a few dangerous artifacts that Dean pulled out of a storeroom somewhere. That's what happens when Cas decides he wants to do a traditional Christmas the night of Christmas eve in a small town in Kansas. It's either scrounge around in the bunker or drive three hours to a town big enough to have the kind of stores that'll be open on Christmas eve. 

The presents are simple but oddly touching. Dean gives Sam dad's bowie knife. Sam had wanted it from the very first – when they divided up the weapons in Dad's trunk after he died, they'd taken turns, but Dean'd gotten to go first because he was the oldest. Sam never pushed back on that; there was very little that gave Dean happiness, and letting him pick first was one of those things that meant a lot to him and not so much to Sam. Unfortunately, he'd been eyeing dad's bowie, too, apparently, even though he had one of his own, that dad'd bought him for his twenty-first birthday. Sam had even argued the point, which, come to think of it, had probably sealed its fate – he might have been convinced to trade it for the black, curved ninja-ish butterfly knife Sam picked second, but Sam had whined about the bowie and that meant Dean was never giving it up. Sam turned the knife over and over in his hands, memories of dad overwhelming him.

Sam gives Dean his AC/DC shirt back. He'd been wearing it when he left for college, and he wore it a fair amount while he was at Stanford. He'd stuffed it in his duffel when he first went back on the road with Dean – meaning to rub his face in it at some point over the hunt. He knew it was Dean's favorite shirt; he'd stolen it out of Dean's laundry pile on purpose the morning he left. 

Dean immediately strips and puts the shirt on. It's faded after so many years, but when Dean claps Sam on the shoulder and breaks out into _Back In Black_ , Sam knows he's been forgiven. 

Cas gives them each a feather. He'd given them feathers before, just extra ones that'd fallen out. Angel feathers are extremely useful, particularly in spellwork, so Sam had always assumed Cas was just giving them something else for their arsenal.

"These are a little different," Cas says, and lowers his eyes. He's done that more and more recently. Sam doesn't know when he started to notice, but it's almost coquettish and always gives Sam pause. He's seen Cas do it to Dean before, but then Cas started doing it to him, too, and Sam can't help but frown at Cas, try and work out what it's supposed to mean. He thought he knew what it meant with Dean, but when Cas levels it at him, too, he figures he must be missing something.

"Angel feathers plucked from our wings and freely given," Cas says, handing them over, "are a symbol of an angel's protection."

When Cas lets go of the feather, Sam can feel a burning sensation on the back of his hand. The feather disappears, and he shakes his hand to get rid of the sting. Dean's doing the same thing, so Sam turns his hand over to see what's there. It's a symbol. Enochian, he's almost positive, but he doesn't recognize it as anything he's seen before. 

"What is it?" 

Cas shrugs. "My name. Though there is much more in my name than simply Castiel."

Sam looks up from the mark on his hand, intrigued. "What's in a name, Cas?"

Cas casts his eyes down again. "Our symbols are not static like our short names. The symbols evolve as the angels change. This symbol means Castiel, favored and outcast, defender of humanity and instrument in its downfall, bound to the Winchesters to defend them above all else." 

Sam is fairly certain he's wearing a match for the dumbfounded look on Dean's face. "Bound to the Winchesters?" Sam asks. "What does that mean?"

Cas looks up, meeting his eyes with the fire and determination Sam has seen a thousand times before – just… about the job, or Heaven, or fixing his mistakes. 

"You are fluent in English, Sam," Cas says, the ghost of a smile crossing his face – just a flash of an upturned corner of his mouth. 

"But you're…. we're not _bound_ ," Dean says. "We would have noticed, wouldn't we, if something bound you to us?"

Cas smiles for real now. "Yes, Dean And you did. I just bound myself to you by putting you under my protection. By accepting my feather, you have agreed to this."

"Cas," Sam breathes. He doesn't even know where to begin. 

"You can't take it back," Cas says, hurriedly. Sam had briefly had that thought – they seem to get their friends and loved ones killed – but dismissed it as irrelevant almost immediately. They've been informally bonded for years now. Making it public isn't that big a deal. 

"Not backing out," Sam says, looking down at his hand again. He's not sure how he could if he wanted to. "This is just… wow. Thanks, Cas."

"You're more than welcome," Cas says. He looks at Dean, worry back on his features. Dean still looks thunderstruck. "Say something," Cas says, his hand twitching like he wants to reach out to Dean.

"Bound to the Winchesters," Dean says softly. "Both of us."

Cas nods. "You each value your brother's safety and wellbeing over your own. I've helped both of you find your way back to each other. I couldn't bind myself to only one of you." 

"So… it's not…" Dean flicks a look over at Sam that he can't understand and looks back to Cas. "It's like… family. Bonds of family."

Cas shrugs. "I will do everything in my power to keep you safe and together."

"Us," Dean says. "You'll do everything in your power to keep all of us safe and together. You, me, and Sam."

Cas smiles, then. "Of course."

Dean nods, apparently satisfied with that. Sam nods too. He's not satisfied, exactly, but he's content. For now.

~~~


	2. Christmas

~~~

The Winchesters give Castiel oddly endearing Christmas presents that first year. Sam gives him a soft blanket and pillow, something he shouldn't need and yet deeply appreciates. Whatever he is now, there are human pleasures that he enjoys, and curling up with a blanket and pillow is one of them. Dean gives him four Jiffy pops, one of which is immediately put to good use.

When they sit down to watch Christmas movies with their hot chocolate (all three under Castiel's soft blanket), Dean settles in next to Castiel, one arm over the top of the couch. And when Sam falls asleep with his head cushioned on Castiel's leg, Dean turns to Castiel and thanks him for the binding. 

"You're welcome, Dean," Castiel says. 

"No," Dean answers, "you don't understand. You bound both of us. I… you don't understand what that means."

Castiel smiles. He knows exactly what it means. It's the Winchesters who will be figuring it out in the months and years to come. He half-nods, acknowledging Dean's point, in case he has more to say.

"Both of us," Dean says, "you don't… it…" He wipes a hand down his face. "Nobody every really gets that."

Castiel nods again. It's easier than trying to explain. More people get it than Dean thinks, but they often get it wrong. Castiel has seen the Winchesters go to Hell and back for each other, seen the depths to which they will sink, and the heights they are able to achieve because of their brother. No, he doesn't underestimate that bond, or the brothers, or the fact that while humans often prefer one brother over the other, they will never have more than the tiniest glimpse of Dean or Sam unless they can accept them as a whole.

"I get it," Castiel says. Meaningless words, but that is often how the Winchesters talk. The important things are encoded in trivialness.

"Yeah, Cas, I think you do." Dean grins at him, grabbing another handful of popcorn and getting half of it on Castiel's new blanket. Castiel brushes it off, annoyed, and Dean's laughter makes the evening complete.

~~~


	3. New Year's Eve

~~~

It's New Year's Eve the next time the bond comes up. Castiel is fairly certain that Sam has been researching, looking for anything about the binding, or Castiel's symbol. There is nothing written down – perhaps on the angel tablet, but that is lost to them all now. 

Sam approaches him in the kitchen early that morning, well before Dean would be awake. There are six different types of alcohol lined up on the counter, and an array of food that's confusing and overwhelming. Castiel is just trying to catalogue everything when Sam enters the kitchen and comes to stands next to him, looking expectant.

Sometimes Castiel gets the impression that the Winchesters think he reads their every stray thought. He could potentially do that, but it is exhausting reading human thoughts, and so little of it is meaningful that it is an exercise in futility. He waits for Sam to decide whether or not he will speak, patiently giving him his full attention.

"Cas," Sam starts, and Castiel often wonders at how often the Winchesters say his name, and how with them he feels like he could be Cas, a different being entirely than Castiel. "Do you love Dean?"

Castiel raises his eyebrows. How is that in question? How could that _ever_ be in question? "Of course, Sam."

Sam sighs out a laugh and shakes his head. "No, I know that. I'm sorry, I meant…" He smiles. "Romantic love. You know, like, Romeo and Juliet?"

"Romeo and Juliet is a tragedy," Castiel answers. He would not end his life if Dean's came to an end, but he would be deeply saddened. 

"Yeah, I know. So, um, more like…" Sam searches around for something Castiel may know, and Castiel takes pity on him.

"I know what romantic love is, Sam, and it is simply a misunderstanding of the nature of love. I love Dean, that is all. I wish for only for his happiness. I would do anything for him."

Sam laughs ruefully. "I know. You gave up the other angels for him."

"I would have done the same for you," Castiel says, because Sam seems sad, and Castiel wants him to know he is just as worthy as his brother.

"I know, Cas," Sam says. "But it's different."

It isn't actually different. Castiel would do anything for either Winchester; Dean simply asks more difficult things of him. Perhaps it is simply the difference between the way Sam and Dean care for him that causes the misperception; his relationship with Sam has always felt complete, as if Sam required nothing further from him. His relationship with Dean has always felt incomplete, as if there is something Dean needs from him but can't or won't ask for, and Castiel doesn't understand what it is, and so can't give it without Dean's request.

Castiel tilts his head in grudging acceptance of Sam's statement. Sam feels there is a difference, so there is one, if only in his own understanding of the situation. 

He has a fleeting idea to ask Sam what Dean needs so Castiel can give it to him. Sam would tell him, he feels sure. He feels just as sure that Dean would consider it cheating. Castiel must figure it out himself, or be requested specifically by Dean.

"I just… I worry." Discussing things of this nature are difficult for the Winchesters, but Sam usually is better at it than Dean, so Castiel is surprised that he is struggling with the conversation. The stammering and breaks in conversation are atypical of him.

"I understand your concern for your brother, Sam," Castiel says, wondering if there is a way for him to reassure him, considering their checkered history. 

"No," Sam says, reaching out to set a hand on his shoulder. "I worry about _you_." 

"I'm an angel, Sam," Castiel says. "You do not need to worry about me."

"You guys are both idiots," Sam says, throwing his hands up. "But damn it, please work it out."

" _Work it out_?" Castiel asks. "I don't understand what you mean."

Sam sighs. Castiel wonders if both Winchesters misunderstand what it means to love. Probably, as their own love for each other is constantly tested with impossible decisions.

"Yeah, Cas, figure out what you and Dean are to each other."

Castiel nods. It is a misunderstanding, then. Sam believes Castiel's love should be limited to a romantic love of Dean, that they should be a "couple" and that Sam himself will simply be peripheral to them both. For two creatures that love each other with a bond more pure than many angels, the Winchesters misunderstand deeply what love is, and how unlimited.

In the end, it will be Sam's limitation on his relationship with Castiel that will likely define Castiel's relationship with Dean; Castiel could simply accept that, and probably should. For now, for Sam's sake, he does. 

"I see," Castiel says. "Trust me when I say I love your brother more than Heaven and Earth." _And you too, Sam._

Sam smiles. "I know." 

_And you love him to the ends of the universe too,_ Castiel knows.

That night, just before they ring in the new year, Sam teases Dean about kisses at midnight, and there is awkwardness for a moment before Castiel simply takes Dean's collar in his hands and pulls him in to give him a kiss on the cheek. He turns around and does the same to a confused and flailing Sam, resulting in the pair of them toppling over and taking Dean out at the knees. Midnight comes and goes with the three of them in a laughing heap on the floor.

~~~


	4. New Year's Day

~~~

Aside from a lingering sensitivity to light, Dean doesn't much get hangovers anymore. He figures he's either a little drunk all the time or his body just stopped punishing him for drinking enough to drown a whale. Either way, it takes a lot to get him drunk and he doesn't often bother.

Last night was fun, but certainly not enough to give him a hangover, or to be in the situation he finds himself this morning. Sam's probably going to be hurting, though.

"Morning," Cas says, and Dean grunts a response. He can feel Cas's body pressed all along his right side, and he can feel Cas moving, something rhythmic and weirdly soothing. He cracks an eye open to see Cas running his fingers through Sam's hair. 

They're sacked out on the couch, Dean and Cas slouched down and smushed together, and Sam on the floor with his head resting on Cas's knee.

"What happened?" Dean asks, though he's not sure he wants to know.

"You fell asleep in the middle of Die Hard 3 and Sam kept drinking until he was too dizzy to sit upright."

Dean chuckles. Sam's definitely going to be hurting this morning.

"He must've been in a mood." Sam almost never drinks to excess. 

Cas shrugs, dislodging Dean's shoulder and giving him the impetus he needs to push up from the couch. "You planning on taking care of that hangover, or letting him live with it as a lesson learned?"

Cas tilts his head like he's thinking about it. "I've siphoned off a little of the unpleasantness," he says, his hand stilling in Sam's hair for just a moment. He looks like he's giving a blessing, his palm cupping Sam's skull. "I thought I might just make it slightly more bearable."

Dean nods. "Sounds good. I'm gonna go make breakfast."

"Happy new year," Cas says. 

Dean grunts again, because they don't usually keep track of that sort of thing, and as far as Dean can tell, each year is just more of the same shit. Still, Cas is here with them now, and that's an unexpected change for the better, so maybe Dean can give a little. "Happy new year, Cas."

~~~


	5. Martin Luther King Jr. Day

~~~

Dean catches Sam staring down at his hand a lot. At first, it makes him grin. Him, Sam, and Cas, they're bonded, whatever the hell that means. He likes the idea that Sam has twice as much protection. Not that he thought Cas wouldn't protect him before, this is just… different. Physical proof. It's not that it means more, it's just tangible. Somehow, Cas understands that physical evidence of more ethereal concepts is important. Dean tries not to think about how well Cas understands them to know how tightly they hang onto these little physical things.

He doesn't look at his own scar much, either. Knowing it's there is all he needs.

After a couple weeks of Sam turning his hand over and staring at it all the time – including once when he dumps coffee all down the front of his shirt – Dean's getting a little annoyed. A day or two of Sam being awed by Cas's gesture, fine. But they're going on three weeks now and Sam is still rubbing his thumb over the back of his hand and staring off into the distance like he's just watched one of those foreign movies Dean never understands.

"All right, spill," Dean says, one day when they're alone in the Impala on the way to a case. "What is _wrong_ with you?"

Sam starts, his eyes focusing back in the present, and then on Dean. "Nothing," he lies, right to Dean's face.

"Oh, bullshit. You've been thinking about that tattoo for weeks now. It's creepy."

"It's not a tattoo, Dean, and I can't help it if I think about stuff. That's just the way I am."

Dean rolls his eyes. It is the way Sam is, but he doesn't _worry_ about shit like this unless something's wrong with them. "You're worried," Dean says, enunciating very clearly to get his point across. "You don't obsess unless you're worried. What do you think is going to happen?"

Sam shakes his head. "It's not… I just don’t know why Cas would do this."

Dean rolls his eyes again. "Are you still all emo over Cas liking me better? Because I thought we got over that."

The bitchface Sam throws him is mild, comparatively. Sam's bitchfaces have mellowed with age. Dean misses the youthful scorn Sam used to put into them. Now they're all complicated and deep and shit.

"He does like you better, Dean, but that's just it – why include me at all? I know he protects me because of you. I know he'd do anything for me because I'm your brother. This just isn't necessary, and I don't know why he did it."

Dean has to look away. That is exactly why it's so important that Cas did it; it's exactly why it means so much. Cas isn't treating Sam as secondary to Dean – he's treating Sam as equal to Dean. He's not protecting Sam because of Dean, but protecting Sam because of _Sam_. Dean doesn't even begin to know how to explain something like that to Sam, and knows he'd sound like a teenage girl if he tried.

"Maybe you should ask Cas that."

Sam does that not-really-a-smile thing he does that makes Dean's heart twist into knots every time and says, "Maybe I will."

~~~


	6. Groundhog Day

~~~

It takes almost two weeks for Sam to build up the nerve to talk to Cas. Their last conversation left him questioning whether or not Cas and Dean would get together without some kind of outside push. He really doesn't want to be that push, but it's been years of the two of them staring googly-eyed at each other, and just lately, Sam's been wondering if they missed their chance.

He's also been wondering why Cas bound himself to both Sam and Dean. Surely the bond between Sam and Dean linked Sam to Cas sufficiently without going to all the trouble?

Dean was right, it used to hurt that Cas liked Dean better. At first it hurt because Cas thought he was a monster, and that meant Dean believed Sam was a monster, too. Sam had held out hope for a long time that Dean didn't believe that, that eroded as their relationship was, Dean still had faith in him. 

Then it hurt because Sam was _lonely_. He wanted someone to look at him the way Cas looked at Dean. And, when Dean thought no one was paying attention, the way he looked at Cas. 

Sam tries, briefly, to figure out when he figured out Dean was bisexual. He thinks it was pretty early – he remembers Dean staring at a boy's lips once, a witness they were grilling while pretending to be students at his high school. Sam hadn't known what it meant at the time, but when he put two and two together a couple of years later, that was the earliest memory that supported his theory. Dean had been sixteen. 

Once Sam'd gotten over the loneliness, mostly by appreciating the fact that it's Dean, not a wife, who is his life partner. Once he realized that, he'd simply changed how he thought of Cas. Dean wasn't around, so Cas wasn't _Dean's angel_ , he was just Cas. And Cas and Sam were working together to save Dean. And things had just… moved along. Their friendship had grown while they worked together, and Dean may have been the reason for their partnership, but he wasn't the reason they became friends.

It was nice, him and Cas outside of Dean. And when Dean came back, it hadn't been weird. It'd been almost like it was _better_. They fit together – kind of lopsided and weirdly jagged puzzle pieces, but they fit. It works.

Still, Sam is not under any illusions that without Dean, he is just one more obligation to Cas. He's sick of being people's obligation. 

"Sam," Cas says, and Sam shakes his head to bring himself back to the present. "You had a question for me?"

Sam looks up at Cas, the gentle curiosity in his eyes, the smile that says he knows Sam was woolgathering and Cas might even find that endearing. Suddenly the last thing Sam wants to know is the truth. He can't bear to hear Cas say that he only did it because he knew it would be important to Dean. 

"Nothing. Sorry, I… it's nothing, Cas. Sorry."

~~~


	7. Chinese New Year

~~~

"But you aren't Chinese," Cas says, and Dean chuckles as Sam earnestly explains that it's a celebration of Chinese culture and blah blah blah, when what it really is, is an excuse to find an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet and read the placemats to figure out their spirit animals over many, many plates of orange chicken and fried rice.

When Dean's on his fourth plate, Sam's trying to explain why the years are based on animals and why he's a dog. Cas is clearly playing up his ignorance – he hasn't been that dewy-eyed in years. He's watching Sam with interest, and it hits Dean that he actually likes to listen to Sam talk about shit. He sits back, poking at the food left on his plate, and watches Cas egg Sam on. Sam looks happier than he has in a while; it makes Dean wonder if they make it to retirement, if Sam'll be a teacher. He'd be good at it. 

It's not until something whizzes by his ear that Dean realizes he's staring across the booth at Sam and Cas, and Sam's grinning at him. "Earth to Dean," he says. "Where were you?"

But Sam has laid down the gauntlet and Dean has never stood down from a food fight in his entire life. He toys with his spoon, trying for wistful. It's working, because Sam's good humor is lost in the wrinkle of his forehead that means he's worried about Dean. 

Dean takes advantage of Sam's momentary lapse of judgment and catapults a full spoonful of fried rice at him, at least some of which ends up in his hair and down his shirt. _Score!_

Sam's eyes flash, and it's _on_. Soon there are noodles and rice everywhere, and Cas has somehow squirted the filling out of a dumpling to get a smear on Dean's cheek, which means he completely deserves the rice noodle tinsel that's currently decorating his head. 

Dean manages to send a half-eaten egg roll sitting in duck sauce flying using a complex silverware levering system, and it ends up in Sam's hair, leaving a streak of sticky pink sauce in it as it plops back down to the table. "Are you drunk?" Sam asks, taking a napkin to his hair prissily.

"He hasn't had anything to drink today," Cas says, and Dean rolls his eyes. 

"He can't get drunk anymore anyway," Sam says. "He has the tolerance of a rhinoceros."

Dean's not quite sure how this got into his drinking habits, but it makes him distinctly uncomfortable. He doesn't drink all that hard anymore – just beer here and there, and a tumbler of good whiskey when there's nothing else going on or he needs a little something to help him sleep. 

When you put it like that, though, it sounds pretty bad. He doesn't have time to speculate on it, though, because Sam has the squirt bottle of hot mustard in his hand, and the last time he had one of those, Dean got a squirt in the eye. 

"Uncle," he says, putting his hands up and offering his water glass for Sam to try and get the duck sauce out of his hair. "Good game, gigantor."

Sam squirts him with the hot mustard anyway, but at least aims for the lower half of his face, so it only ends up Dean's nose.

~~~

Cas corners Dean in the kitchen later that night, after they've all cleaned themselves up and gotten into sweats or pajamas to watch Jackie Chan movies. Sam has all of them, along with a bunch of other martial arts movies, and Dean's always wondered if he would've trained in something like that if they'd been settled enough to find him a studio. 

"Cas," Dean says, through a mouthful of Ritz. "What's up?" He's got cheese and crackers, a pint of blueberries (why is his brother a freak?), a bag of freshly-popped popcorn, and a six-pack container holding various drinks since he's suddenly gone off beer, and the only other thing he drinks is coffee. The juices and waters and shit are all Sam's, but Dean figures he'll be willing to part with them if he thinks Dean's trying to be healthy again.

"Nothing," Cas says, reaching out like he's planning on helping Dean out with the haul, which will not end well, as Dean has it all precariously balanced.

"Thanks, but no thanks," Dean says, but of course Cas doesn't take no for an answer. He grabs for the popcorn (of course he does, it's his favorite), and the cheese starts sliding off the top of the juice bottles, and from there everything just goes to shit. Dean gives up on saving anything except the juice out of habit, and lets Cas pick things up and bundle them back into Dean's arms, a hand resting on Dean's back, like for balance or something. 

There's a brief zap in there somewhere, static electricity, and Dean's glad it's his back and not his fingers – they've gotten more sensitive to electricity as he's gotten older.

"All right?" Cas asks, hanging onto his popcorn, the pint of blueberries, and cheese.

"Yeah," Dean says, hefting the crackers under his arm more firmly. "Let's get this party started."

~~~


	8. Mardi Gras

~~~

"Never have I ever kissed more than three women in my life," Castiel says, smiling when the Winchesters raise their drinks and take long swallows. Sam licks his lips but Dean grimaces.

"What is this shit anyway?" he asks for the twelfth time, and Castiel patiently answers, "A Wild Parrot."

"I like it," Sam says, smiling with drunken good humor. He's three drinks in and clearly affected by the alcohol in a way Castiel has never seen before. 

Sam's musings on whether or not Castiel could heal the built-up damage to their livers have been proven true. Dean's only had a drink and a half, probably because of his infamous distaste for girl drinks, but even so, his complaints have less heat in them now.

"What's next? Chocolate martini?" Dean complains.

"Cajun Sensation," Castiel replies, heading over to the makeshift bar to mix them up. He'd found an article online with the ten best drinks for Mardi Gras, and he is determined to try them all. Especially since they spent over three hundred dollars on the various alcohols and other supplies they needed. Sam had cheerfully paid with no complaints, but Castiel doesn’t like to be indebted like that if he can help it.

~~~

"Never have I ever fucked an ex-porn star," Sam says, and Dean rolls his eyes and takes a drink of his… whatever the fuck this is with an umbrella in it. He's having a hard time hanging onto his carefully cultivated grumpiness. Especially since these are all girl drinks and made with liqueurs and soda.

This one is actually pretty tasty. He takes another drink to be sure, but… yeah. That's some spicy going on. Jalapeño vodka, maybe?

He's feeling pretty good, considering he'd expected to be hanging around getting not-drunk and drinking terrible mixed drinks all night – the absolute _worst_ way to spend Mardi Gras _ever_.

Cas drinks with him, and wrinkles up his nose at the drink. He hasn't particularly liked any of them so far, but this one is apparently bothersome. "What's up, Cas?" Dean asks. "Can't take the heat?"

Cas rolls his eyes and tips his head back, finishing off his drink. That's his cue for making the next batch – something called the French Quarter – and Dean tries to think of _anything_ he hasn't done that Sam might've. He sprawls on the couch a little more. This is going to take a lot of thinking.

~~~

"Never have I ever read a girl poetry," Dean finally says, after hemming and hawing for _ever_. Sam shakes his head – like reading poetry to a woman is a _bad_ thing – and takes a big gulp of the spicy drink. It's okay, though not really his style. He prefers the fruity drinks, the ones that are more like juice or soda.

He's got to slow down just a little. Even with his newly healed liver, Dean's tolerance seems to be higher than Sam's, and if Sam wants to use the situation to its fullest advantage, he needs to make sure he stays sober enough to do it.

Dean's clearly buzzed, his smile easy for a change, and for just a second, Sam's heart aches at how much Dean's lost – and how much Sam misses those parts of Dean. He's lost some of his easy charm as he's gotten harder over the years.

Sam shakes it off. He can't afford to get maudlin or this whole thing will go south. He takes a drink when Cas finally takes his turn – he keeps doing things like, "Never have I ever had sex before I was a thousand years old," which is kinda cute but eye-rollingly annoying nonetheless.

~~~

"Never have I ever had sex with more than two women in one night," Sam says, and Dean rolls his eyes and takes the last gulp of his Cajun Sensation.

Castiel frowns at the precise wording; clearly Sam has had sex with two women in one night, but not more; clearly Dean has had sex with at least three. Castiel wonders at the amount of sex these two have had. His own limited experience at being human did not have that many sexual adventures in it. He takes a sip of the French Quarter, wondering if Sam will enjoy it. He seems to prefer the sweeter drinks, so Castiel thinks it's likely.

He takes Dean's empty glass and gives him a glass of the French Quarter, watching carefully as he takes a sip. He glances over his shoulder at the table where Cas has laid out all the alcohols and supplies, and nods when he sees the assembled liquors. Apparently this drink meets Dean's exceptionally high standards. Castiel smiles and makes a mental note, ignoring Dean's turn because he is very specifically gearing his questions to Sam, just as Sam is doing to Dean. There is very little either of them have done that Castiel has as well. Romantic and sexual interludes were not something he had ever considered prior to meeting the Winchesters. He still does not consider them much, except in relation to the way the Winchesters feel about them.

The difference is remarkable, too. Sam thinks of them wistfully, and has a secret desire to have a fulfilling, long-term relationship with a woman. He understands it is probably not a possibility, so he pushes it away, thinks of it only in relation to wishing Dean might have something similar. 

Dean has closed that part of himself off after Lisa and Ben. Castiel had not only watched it happen, he had aided and abetted it. Dean was happy with them, for a given value of happy, and Castiel has always wondered what the world might have been like, had Sam not burst back in on Dean's life.

Castiel lets the thoughts slip away, coming back to the present and smiling as Sam sits stubbornly on his end of the couch, not raising his glass. "Liar," Dean says, but Sam shakes his head. "Never."

"Cas," Dean whines, and Castiel comes up behind the couch. "Read Sam. He's lying."

"Sam?" Castiel asks. He tries to ask permission before invading their thoughts, but especially Sam's. He's had enough angels inside his head.

"Go ahead," Sam says, and Castiel looks into his mind even as Dean's saying, "Never mind," because why would he ask if he didn't want to know?

"Sam feels his strength is in prose, not poetry, so no, he has not written a love poem."

"I know," Dean says forlornly, chugging the entire glass. "He wouldn't have let you read him so easily otherwise."

~~~

"Never have I ever had sex with more than one person at a time," Cas says, and damn, that's one Sam would've liked to have not let on about. It's not that he has anything against threesomes, but the fact that his was with Ingrid _and her brother_ is something he doesn't want to be thinking about when he's not fully in control of his faculties.

He knows Dean would never judge him – all the gender-biased teasing in the world will never change the fact that all Dean wants is for him to be happy, and whatever that takes is a-okay with Dean. Sam could be completely gay and Dean wouldn't care. He's certainly not going to begrudge Sam an experimental phase during college. 

It's just that he'd been planning on lying about his own experiences with men, and it's harder when the memories are so close to the surface. He's going to have to be very careful, especially with Cas so willing to read minds.

He sighs and takes a drink, grinning and giving Dean the high five he's asking for when he comes up for air.

~~~

"Never have I ever had sex with identical twins," Sam says, and _damn it_ , this is the problem with Sam knowing every detail of Dean's sex life.

Dean blames the fact that he didn't catch on to the _identical_ part right away on Cas distractingly trying to fill his glass every two seconds. When he catches on, though, and throws fraternal twins back in Sam's face, it is a thing of beauty.

~~~

"Never have I ever had sex in a car," Castiel says, smiling when both Winchesters roll their eyes at him and drink.

They are both inebriated now. Each thinks the other is drunk, but they themselves are fine. Already Castiel can see Sam's overly-thought out plan, and Dean's simple desire not to lose. Considering his exceptional history, Castiel doesn't know how that is possible; besides having a wider breadth of sexual experience than Sam, he's told Sam about nearly every sexual experience he has had. Castiel has heard tales of several of them himself. If there was a game designed for Dean Winchester to lose, this would be it. Castiel brings the two pitchers of French Quarters over to the coffee table and sits on the couch between the brothers. 

Things are just about to get interesting.

~~~

"Never have I ever been tied up during sex," Sam says, and Dean drinks.

~~~

"Never have I ever cried during sex," Dean says, and Sam gives him a nasty look, but drinks.

~~~

"Never have I ever had sex with lights on," Castiel says, smiling as both Winchesters drink.

~~~

"Never have I ever had sex while high," Sam says, and Dean shakes his head. "That's a damn shame, Sammy." He finishes off glass five and Cas pours him another.

~~~

"Never have I ever had sex while I was married," Dean says smugly, but Sam's raised eyebrow and stubborn refusal to lift his glass take the wind out of Dean's sails pretty quick.

"Really?" he asks. "She had you under a literal spell and didn't bother to test the goods?"

Sam narrows his eyes and Dean raises his hands in surrender, finishing off another glass of that really amazing tasting drink. He's going to drink these forever.

~~~

"Never have I ever kissed a man," Castiel says, wondering if either Winchester is planning to lie. Technically, they've both kissed their father, so Castiel has that on them, but he knows better. They've both been with men before, and he thinks this might have been part of Sam's plan, to get Dean to admit he's been with men. His plan was not particularly well thought out, since Sam himself has been with men, but Castiel has a feeling that getting Dean to admit things was only half the plan – Sam has a few things pent up that could use purging.

Both drink, both avoiding eye contact with each other or Castiel.

~~~

"Never have I ever been in love with a man," Sam says, which is a risk – and Dean has an out, if he wants to go the technicality route. Cas is an angel, not a man. Dean doesn't drink, but Cas does, and Sam's heart beats a little faster to see the way Dean watches him out of the corner of his eye.

~~~

"Never have I ever given a blowjob," Dean says. He's pretty well plastered now, which is really something, considering what they're drinking, but he's not complaining. And he's playing a hunch. He was wrong about Becky, but that was him underestimating Becky, not Sam. And that fraternal twin thing has been bugging him.

Sam looks him dead in the eye when he takes the drink, and Dean has the distinct feeling that Sam is disappointed in him for some reason.

~~~

"Never have I ever kissed a sibling," Castiel says, because he knows the boys kissed when they were younger, simple, innocent kisses of young boys and toddlers, nothing but brotherly affection.

He knows that's not what they're thinking of when they drink, despite the fact that neither has ever considered kissing their brother passionately before.

Sam may have come up with the plan, but Castiel is the only one not too inebriated to move forward with it, and he plans to change the rules.

~~~

"Never have I ever been in love with an angel before," Sam says. His calculated risks have gone out the window; he figures he has, at most, two more questions before he's totally useless, and he has to make the grand gestures now.

"That’s a lie," Cas says. "You love me."

Sam can't help looking at Cas, even though the reaction he's looking for is Dean's. "I said 'in love with,' Cas," he explains. "It's different."

"It's not," Cas says, "but I will concede it feels that way to you." 

Sam gets the feeling he always does when Cas talks about love, that he's a child that simply can't understand. Maybe he can't; or maybe Cas can't. Whatever it is, it's not the same, and when he looks back at Dean, he notices his glass is empty. Was it empty before? Did he take a drink while Sam was distracted? He looks guilty, but Sam can't even begin to put that together into a coherent thought, and Dean's going on to take his turn anyway.

~~~

"Never have I ever had sex with a werewolf," Dean says, kicking himself because he should have thought of that one earlier.

It only takes a second to be kicking himself again, because Sam takes a drink in silence and his frown seems to turn down the lights in the room, it's so gloomy. Dean wants to apologize but it feels like he's forgotten how.

"Sorry," Dean says. "That was shitty."

"Yeah," Sam says, taking another drink.

Dean determinedly takes 'fucking a demon chick' off his list of never have I evers and goes back to thinking about poetry and love letters.

~~~

"Never have I ever loved anyone more than I love Sam and Dean Winchester," Castiel says. They might be too drunk to be able to parse the thought, but Castiel can see when the understanding lights in their eyes. Neither one drinks, and the silence gets heavy for a few moments before Castiel raises his own glass.

Dean clears his throat, leaning alarmingly to the side in an effort to set his drink on the ground.

"I think that's enough," Castiel says. "You've both had more than enough to drink. Consider your new livers well-broken-in."

Dean scowls for half a second, and Castiel can feel the rebuke he intends before he tips his drink over and spills all over the floor.

"Come on," Castiel says, throwing the bar towel from his shoulder over the spilled drink and standing, lifting Dean to his feet and getting an arm around him. "Time to sleep this off."

Sam tries to get up on his own, flailing and falling back on the couch. 

"I'll be back for you, Sam," Castiel says, maneuvering Dean toward the hallway to the sleeping quarters. Sam grunts out a response, and Castiel will be surprised if he's still awake by the time he gets back.

It doesn't take long to tuck Dean in – even as intoxicated as he is, he doesn't like Castiel taking care of him – but by the time Castiel gets back to Sam, he's sprawled across the couch and fast asleep.

Castiel debates leaving him, but the room is a mess and Castiel would like to clean while the Winchesters sleep. He gets an arm under Sam's back, and another under his knees, and manages – just – to pick him up. 

He can carry Sam's weight easily, but his long limbs are unruly and Castiel has to use his wings to make sure Sam doesn't flop out of his arms. When he sets Sam down on his bed, Sam whispers, "Thanks, Cas," and Castiel places a kiss on the top of his head. He doesn't think Sam will remember, but there is little enough tenderness in the Winchesters' lives these days.

~~~


	9. Ash Wednesday

~~~

"Uuuuuuuuuuugh." 

Sam can hear Dean's moaning from two hallways over. He feels pretty rough himself. This hangover is way worse than the one from New Year's, and Sam must've drunk nearly a fifth of whiskey that night. He listens to Dean for another minute before he throws back the covers and puts his feet on the cold floor. It's nice, actually. Sam'd been feeling a little overheated.

He gets up gingerly, shading his eyes from the light in the hallway. It takes him a full five minutes to get to Dean's room, wondering the whole time where the hell Cas might be. They could both use a little of his healing touch.

When Sam shows up at Dean's door, it takes Dean a while to realize he's there. Sam's feeling okay as long as he's standing still, so he waits for Dean to open his eyes and focus.

"I hate you," Dean mumbles, and Sam smiles, because nodding makes his head feel like it's going to fall off.

He moves into the room, listening to Dean bitch about his new liver and how bright it is, and how Sam sucks. He chuckles, moseying over to the side of the bed with the most room and climbing in. 

"You've really never written a love poem?" Dean asks.

Sam snorts. "You've really never given a blowjob?"

Dean gets quiet and Sam scoots a little deeper under the covers. "He loves you, you know. He told me."

"I know," Dean says. He's quiet for a while, and Sam doesn't push it. He can feel the pressure of what Dean's got to say. It only takes another couple of moments. "I've known since I first met him."

"Yeah," Sam says, trying not to be melancholy. He remembers meeting Cas for the first time too, and the pain of Cas's disappointment in the face of his own awe… it's diminished over the years, but it's still buried in him.

"You need to man up and tell him you love him too."

Dean hums his acceptance of that, but there's more. Sam can feel it. "He knows," Dean says. "He knows and he doesn't do anything about it. Why?"

Sam smiles, letting his eyes drift closed. "Maybe you should ask him that."

~~~


	10. Valentine's Day

~~~

"Do you love me?"

Cas tilts his head at the question, and Dean's breath catches in his throat. He can feel his heart beating entirely too fast to be good for him.

"How is that in doubt?" 

It takes a second for Dean to process that; he thinks he understands what Cas means, but… that's not what _he_ meant, so: "It's... I'm not doubting you, Cas, that's not what I mean. I just need to know. Do you love me?"

Cas's eyes narrow, and the look he's giving Dean is suspiciously similar to the look he gives Dean when he suspects a head injury.

Dean sighs.

"Tell me you love me, Cas."

And now, Cas meets his eyes without hesitation, and there's no questioning there, no confusion or _why?_. He says, simply, "I love you, Dean." 

Dean had known it was the truth before, but the absolute conviction of it, the lack of apology… Cas has never hidden this from Dean, he's only ever been sorry that Dean's lack of acceptance meant it was uncomfortable for him. 

Dean can feel a fine tremor in his body, like he's shaking out of his skin. 

Cas only ever wanted Dean's happiness and comfort, even if it meant his own feelings would have to be held in check. Forever, probably. 

_Who loves someone like that?_

One corner of Cas's mouth lifts minutely as Cas holds Dean's eyes. An angel of the lord, that's who.

"What do you want from me?" Dean asks. He doesn't know if he can do this.

The sad smile on Cas's face is worrisome, but only in a superficial way. He knows it's his own limitation that's the problem, but Cas would never make him feel bad about that.

"Only your happiness," Cas says, with the curious head tilt that used to make Dean uncomfortable back when they hardly knew each other. It was like Cas was looking right through him, right past all his defenses to the nasty core where all of Dean's roiling crap lives. "The question is, Dean, what do you want from me?"

Dean is more scared than he has been ever in his life. He feels like he's seven again and he's seen his first real monster, the adrenaline soaking his muscles and making him want to turn around and run.

"I don't know." 

Cas seems to consider this for a moment. "What is it you fear?" He takes a small step closer, and Dean's heart thunders in his chest. The urge to run is nearly overwhelming. 

"I don't know."

Cas gently takes Dean's wrist, his grip firm but not bruising, and, Dean knows, unbreakable if Cas wants it to be. 

"What are you afraid of, Dean?"

Dean can't really think around the fear. He doesn't know what he's afraid of but it feels like it might kill him – if he doesn’t die of a heart attack in the next minute and a half. And that might be welcome, after all – when he tries to think about what he's afraid of, there's a profound sense of loss attached to it that makes him think if what he fears comes to pass, he'd rather be dead, and dead quickly, than live with it.

And with that thought, he knows. It's perfectly clear that what he fears is losing Cas, or losing Cas's love. It's the very same feeling he gets when he thinks about losing Sam, how he couldn't possibly live without him, there is no way his life could continue without Sam in it.

And now Cas. And with Cas, the possibility that Dean will fuck it up and drive him away is even higher than it is with Sam. He's driven Sam away – more than once – but Sam is still here, Sam won't leave him again, unless he does something monumentally stupid, and while that's always a possibility, Dean is more careful these days. He knows what it feels like to lose Sam, and he doesn't want to do it again. With Cas, he doesn't know the rules. He's a dumbshit, he knows this, he does stupid stuff all the time, and what if he does something that makes Cas go away, and then Dean's alone again?

There's some small part of him that takes exception to that; with Sam by his side, he's not really alone, but that's not the point. The point is Dean is an idiot and will probably drive Cas away, and that is scarier than anything he's ever felt, except for when Sam was dead… and, _thanks, hamster brain, for providing_ that _possibility._

When Dean finally meets Cas's eyes, he sees compassion there, and maybe just a little bit of irritation. Maybe not – maybe that's Dean getting annoyed with himself. The fear is settling a little, now that he's uncovered what it is, but it's still there. He doesn't trust himself not to fuck this up.

"I'm afraid of losing you," Dean says, his voice raw. He'll regret this later, when he looks back on it and winces at sounding like a Lifetime movie, but right now Cas has been honest with him and for once in his life, Dean is going to be honest back. "That I'll fuck up and you'll leave, and then I won't know what to do with myself."

Cas smiles, deep and amused. "I will not leave you," Cas says. "And I will not stop loving you. I don't love you because of what you do or say, Dean. I simply love you. It is a constant. It's eternal. Nothing you say could change that, nothing you have done or will do could ever change that. Do you understand?"

Not at all. Dean doesn't understand this, the possibility that he doesn't have to earn love, that there is someone he loves who won't leave him. 

"But what if you die?"

Cas smiles again. "I am less likely to die than anyone you have ever known. If there is a being with whom you do not need to fear death, it is me. Though your death may fundamentally alter me." Cas grimaces. "There are a number of platitudes from literature attempting to assert themselves as appropriate. I'll refrain from using any of those but I will say I believe love changes the composition of who we are. And I am richer for loving you."

Dean can't help shaking his head and smiling at Cas. Only Cas would have more clichés than he can deal with in his head and then still say something that comes off as a cliché.

"So, Dean," Cas says, his voice softer. "What do you want from me?"

Dean is at a loss. He always thought if he ever got up the balls to do something about this…. whatever the fuck this is with Cas, he'd attack him with kisses and they'd have some really raunchy (and loud, really really _loud_ ) sex. 

It turns out, Dean doesn't really want sex right now. He does _eventually_ want sex. But not right now. He doesn't even want to kiss Cas, really, not yet. The thing he _really_ wants, the thing he hasn't had since Lisa, and never before, is someone to curl up with as he falls asleep. He has no idea how to ask Cas for that, though. In his experience, it's not something you ask for – it's something that just _happens_.

"Dean, I have eviscerated Heaven for you," Cas says, holding Dean's eyes and not letting him look away. "What do you think you could ask for that would be more difficult than what I have already done, and gladly?" 

Dean's heart has been beating in overdrive for several minutes now, and as he starts to realize that the hard part is over – they've done it, or at least, he has, and now there's nothing more to be worried about, the adrenaline starts to drain out of him, and he can feel the drop coming that means if he's not moving, he's going to fall asleep, and hard.

He takes Cas's hand, joining their fingers together with some considerable effort, since Cas has apparently never done that before, and pulls Cas toward his room. He's got maybe five minutes before he falls asleep, and he wants to make sure he at least remembers some of the cuddling.

Cas follows him, like always, without hesitation.

~~~


	11. President's Day

~~~

Castiel knows exactly when Dean wakes. His heartbeat is suddenly faster, and his body is still and stiff. He knows Dean wasn't expecting someone in the bed with him, so Castiel gives him a moment to remember why he is there. 

Dean is curled around Castiel, and as he slowly comes into understanding of why Castiel is here, his body relaxes, sinking back down into the mattress. Dean kisses the back of his neck, and Castiel wonders at the affection. He knows something has changed between them now, that Dean considers Castiel more than a friend – more than family, even, but he is uncertain of what that means in terms of how they relate, both emotionally (for Dean) and physically (for both of them). 

He thought sex would be foremost on Dean's mind, but as often happens with humans, fear burned through him and sapped his energy, and when the adrenaline was gone, rest was needed. Dean led them to his bedroom, took of clothes down to t-shirts and boxers, and climbed into bed. 

There was not even kissing, which Castiel had expected at some point. A moment of Dean meeting his eyes, the two of them facing each other on the bed, and then sleep. Castiel spent the better part of the night wondering if he had misread Dean entirely. At least until Dean rolled over, pushing Castiel in front of him, and curled around his back.

It's pleasant. Castiel's physical body belongs to him now, so more information from it passes to his consciousness than before. Perhaps he allows more information in. Whatever the reason, he can acknowledge that physical touch is pleasing and sense the physiological and emotional changes it causes in Dean. There's a feeling of contentedness, of safety and love, and also desire, which is something Castiel only felt as a human. Many emotions seem to relate specifically to human physiology or mental landscape. 

The human body limits divinity. Cas can feel his own grace more distantly when he is in physical form, and he can leave it at will, to remember what his limitless form is. Humans are forever trapped within their limited bodies, and it causes them to put limits on ideas and emotions, too.

He is brought back viscerally to his body when Dean splays a hand over his stomach. His desire is building and he is expecting something from Castiel. It is unclear _what_ is expected, though, and Castiel does not want to hamper this first physical encounter with questions. He draws instead on the information Metatron gave him, and listens carefully to Dean's physical reactions. 

He turns over to face Dean, waiting to see if Dean wants to move first, if he has some idea of what he wants, but there's still hesitance and doubt in Dean's features. Castiel must be bold, then, allow Dean to be the one to turn down any advances. He brings his hand to Dean's face. He has never understood human concepts of beauty, of what is considered handsome or pretty, but he knows that Dean's soul is one of the most awe-inspiring things his Father has ever created, and Castiel moves forward to demonstrate with a kiss.

Dean's reaction is immediate; his pupils dilate and his breath catches. Anticipation, Castiel thinks, and continues his forward motion to play his hunch. The kiss is easy; Dean's mouth is already open a little, and when Castiel pulls him closer, fits their mouths and bodies together, he can feel the way Dean's skin heats up and his heartbeat increases. He slides this hand down Dean's neck and lets it come to rest over Dean's heart.

There's a leap in Dean's heartbeat, a painfully hard thump, and Castiel wonders at how irregular these things are, for an organ that is supposed to be deliberately steadfast. He recognizes Dean's desire, though, so he gently presses on Dean's shoulder, pushing him down onto his back, keeping their kiss as long as he can manage the necessary coordination. 

When they break, Dean takes advantage to strip his shirt, and then reach for Castiel's. Castiel remembers that human skin is extremely sensitive, and he trails his fingers over Dean's newly-revealed torso, pleased with the reaction he pulls from Dean. 

Thinking of Dean's earlier kiss on his neck, he puts his mouth on Dean's chest. Dean's body temperature rises as the blood comes to the surface of his skin, making him pink and flushed. Castiel doesn't feel desire, but he thinks perhaps Dean like this might be irresistible to most humans. 

Dean's body is exceptionally responsive and Castiel spends long moments drawing out reactions from him, listening to the sounds he makes and cataloguing Dean's reactions. Fingertips over his skin make him breathless, but a firm grip on any part of his torso increases his heart rate. 

Shifting down his body does even more; Castiel is intrigued with Dean's penis and as soon as he touches it, Dean's body nearly convulses in pleasure, curling up enough that Castiel can kiss him briefly, before the effort is too much and he falls back to the bed.

Everything he does with his hands has a counterpart with his mouth. Kissing sensitive areas of Dean's body create a fine tension in him, something that builds as Castiel continues his ministrations. He uses his tongue to taste Dean, to learn Dean Winchester with every one of the human senses he can. The smell of Dean Winchester, the taste… these are things he will forever know. 

When he kisses Dean's penis, it jumps, and Castiel is delighted. Dean strains for him again, but Castiel is too far out of reach, so Dean puts one of his hands in Castiel's hair, some small pressure that indicates he wants Castiel to stay where he is. It isn't a hardship, and the taste of Dean is different here – warmer. Truer. 

It takes a moment to realize Dean wants Castiel to take his entire penis in his mouth, but once he does realize it, scenes of sexual intercourse from a number of Metatron's stories crowd in, and he tries his best to accommodate Dean. He can feel the fine tension increasing, Dean's muscles straining for something, and his desire spiraling upward. 

Orgasm is something he remembers distinctly from his sexual encounter with April, and he remembers the sensation of climbing, of reaching for something unknown to him. He can feel Dean straining for it, and Castiel grounds him with his hands as he works on Dean with his mouth. It isn't long before he can feel Dean reach the precipice he's about to go over. 

There's the slightest hesitation, but Castiel refastens his grip, curling his fingers around Dean's hips slowly, letting them tell Dean everything Castiel needs him to know.

Yet another taste of Dean Winchester comes with his orgasm. Castiel's has to pull back just a little to get some ejaculate on his tongue, causing a small tremor in Dean as he continues to orgasm, small breathy whines passing his lips. "Cas," he says, once, twice, and then a third time before he falls back onto the pillows, one arm slung over his face. Castiel smiles. At least he knew who was in his bed.

After a minute, he lifts his arm to look down at Castiel. Castiel has released Dean's penis, but not moved from his position between Dean's legs. "Did you…"

Dean stares at Castiel for a long moment, and Castiel understands this is part of the expectation from earlier, but he doesn't know what it is. Dean apparently cannot articulate it, either.

"Are you…" Dean tries again, and Castiel continues to hold his eyes. Dean swallows and licks his lips. "Are we good?"

That one, Castiel knows the answer to. The answer, no matter how good or bad Castiel might be, is that _we_ are good. There's a nuance there that he doesn't quite get, but he knows it's important, moreso now that Dean has used it in this situation. He resolves to talk to Sam about it later, to make sure he understands fully. 

"We're good," Castiel says, and Dean smiles brightly at him, yanking him up by his armpits and kissing him.

"Great," Dean says, "because I am _starving_."

~~~


	12. National Cherry Pie Day

~~~

It's a weird kind of day. Sam's a coffee drinker, but sometimes, if there's nothing going on in the supernatural world and he doesn't have anywhere to be, he drinks tea. They've got a collection of them (Dean won't admit it, but he likes chamomile before bed if he's too keyed up), and Sam goes for cinnamon this morning.

And that's the fourth weird thing of the day. The first is that he slept in. He almost never sleeps in, but _someone_ kept him up late last night with his sex noises. It's a little disturbing that he can still recognize Dean's sex noises after so many years since hearing them live. It's weird, really - he sounds both exactly the same as he did at sixteen, boning Missy Kowalski on the couch in their motel, and also totally different. Maybe it's the acoustics. Maybe it's that Dean's voice has dropped two octaves.

The second was that Dean and Cas joined him in the showers. Dean in particular never showers with other people. He's always hated locker rooms and while the water pressure in the bunker is tough to beat, he knows Dean would appreciate it more if they had more typical single-shower bathrooms. 

And that's the third, too. Cas took a shower. Sam can't wrap his head around why the angel would do such a thing.

So it just seems like a tea sort of day. He lets the tea steep while he considers the weirdness that is this morning, staring down into the cup and stirring hypnotically. 

Dean comes in and stares at the coffee maker, squinting like it's his eyesight that's going and not that the little red light isn't on because Sam didn't make coffee. 

"Coffee?" he asks. 

Sam shakes his head and Dean leans over Sam's tea, getting a faceful of cinnamon. He shrugs and takes the cup, drinking half of it in one go.

"Hey!" Sam reaches for the mug, but Dean pulls away, easily sidestepping Sam's grab and taking another gulp. Sam frowns. There's no point anymore. It's easier to just make himself another cup. He rolls his eyes and gets another mug and sachet.

"So," Dean says, and Sam stops what he's doing to stare at his brother. That is the opening to every uncomfortable conversation he and Dean have had over the last three decades. He stays still and waits.

Dean clears his throat. "I, uh…" He clears his throat again. "I need some advice."

Sam breathes out slowly. He's not sure if Dean wants him to respond to that or not. If Dean needs him to make light of it. There are two distinct levels to Dean's serious talks, and normally Sam would be able to read that easily, but he has a feeling this is about Cas, which means all bets are off.

He doesn't know what to do, so he just keeps quiet and waits some more.

Dean fidgets, which he only does when he actually cares about something and knows that his usual "shoot first and ask questions later" mentality won't cut it for this. 

Dean stays silent for another couple of moments, so Sam gives an encouraging, "Yeah?"

Dean licks his lips and looks away. He's really nervous. Sam hasn't seen him like this in years; it's both endearing and terrifying. "I, uh…" He hangs his head, chuckling. That seems like a good sign; if Dean can laugh at himself, things can't be _that_ bad. "I think Cas might not like sex."

Sam knows he's making a face, a mouth-open, eyes-wide, shock-of-the-century face, but holy _shit_ he has no clue what to do with this. 

Apparently his expression is enough to goose Dean into more detail (because oh my _god_ of course he thinks Sam needs more detail), and he says, "I mean, I get off fine, but whenever I try…" He flicks a glance sideways at Sam, and Sam takes one, brief, mean-spirited moment to be amused at the flush creeping up Dean's neck. "Whenever I try anything, he waves me off and just… expects me to go to sleep."

It's Sam's turn to lick his lips because that begs the question of Dean's sex noises, and that's TMI, but sort of necessary to the question. "But… he… you…" Sam makes a face and berates himself for letting his brother make him feel awkward about sex talk – something that hasn't happened between them since Sam was eleven. " _You're_ still getting off, right? With him?"

"Well, yeah," Dean says peevishly. "Obviously."

_Obviously._

"And he doesn't resent it or seem uncomfortable?"

The discomfort drops off Dean's face as his eyes go to the ceiling and concentration takes over – going back through his memories to figure out the answer to Sam's question. "No, he seems… interested. In a sort of... intellectual way."

"Well, then don't worry about it."

"But…" Dean says, turning the full force of his _help me_ look on Sam. "I want to…"

Sam fills in, "Reciprocate?" before Dean can say any number of things that will scar him for life.

"Close enough," Dean says. 

Sam shrugs. "If he doesn't want you to, then you don't. Seems pretty simple. But you know, you should probably ask Cas instead of assuming." This is a key lesson that Sam's pretty sure Dean will never learn, but it doesn't hurt to remind him now and again.

"Whatever, bitch."

"Whatever yourself, jerk."

~~~


	13. National Chili Day

~~~

Sam hasn't run consistently in years. He runs a lot; he likes to run. But he does it whenever he has the time and energy… or insomnia. He doesn't keep a training regimen. It's not like he's going to run a marathon or anything. He just needs to be able to run away from the monsters, not that practice running ever really helps.

Since Dean and Cas have gotten together, though, he runs _all the time_. Short runs, because he's likely to go out on them two or three times a day now. A mile or two plus a long shower afterward usually covers him.

Scratch that – it's not since they got together, but since Sam told Dean to ask Cas what he wants. And apparently Cas told Dean, because there are a hell of a lot more awkward sounds echoing in the bunker than there were those few, blissfully quiet first days and Sam just doesn't need that shit in his life.

Today, Cas is waiting for him in the garage. It's a shorter trip from the garage to the showers, and it avoids most of the living quarters, which is why Sam's been coming in that way lately, but it looks like today he's going to have to sit around in his sweat for a little while. "Cas?" he asks. He has a bad feeling about this.

"I need to speak with you," Cas says, serious in that way only he can be. 

Sam smiles. It can't be that bad. After all the crap they've been through, it is statistically improbable that there is something worse out there. "Well, I need some water, so walk with me to the kitchen?"

Cas tilts his head like he's trying to figure out if Sam is trying to trick him. It's fair, he and Dean are notorious practical jokers, and it's safer to pull pranks on Cas – because he doesn't retaliate – than it is to get in a full on prank war in the bunker. Too many ways that could go really wrong. "I really just need some water," Sam says, and heads that way. Cas only hesitates a moment before joining him.

Cas seems unsettled. He seems that way more often than not these days, but Sam can't pinpoint when it started happening. Sometime after he came back from Purgatory, maybe. Maybe after Metatron. No, it's later than that. It started with Dean getting the Mark of Cain. Something about that deeply concerned Cas, in a different way than it did Sam. He think that's probably when it was. 

Which means this is probably about Dean. _Please don't let it be about Dean._

He stands in front of the sink, gulping down a whole glass of water and refilling it. He's going to want something in his hands, he thinks.

"I need to speak to you about Dean."

Sam hangs his head, shaking It a little. Of course it's about Dean. _Please don't let this be about sex._

"I don't understand sexual intercourse."

 _Of course._ Of course this is his life. When did he become the go to guy for sex advice, anyway? Surely there's someone more qualified.

Sam sighs, moving over to the table to take a seat. He gestures to the chair across from him, and Cas sits. "I thought you had sex with that reaper." Sam isn't sure how that went, but the basics of sex are pretty straightforward once you've done it. 

Oh god. Please don't let this be about some kinky thing Dean wants to do.

"Yes, but that was as a human. There are certain things human bodies are designed for, and sex is one of them. Angelic bodies are not the same."

Sam raises an eyebrow and looks Cas's vessel up and down. "That looks like a human meatsuit to me, Cas. Seems like things should work roughly the same."

"No," Cas answers, meeting Sam's eyes briefly and then staring fixedly down at the table. "My consciousness is not anchored to my body the way yours is. I do not have to be present in this body at all, and sometimes I am only barely tethered to it. It's much like eating. The experience is not the same. My grace drowns out the signals from the body."

Sam thinks about this for a moment. He remembers feeling for Cas when he tried to eat and it just tasted like molecules. "Wait a minute," Sam says. "Drowns them out?"

Cas's signature confused head-tilt is out in full force, and Sam waits for just a minute before he nudges Cas again. "So if you concentrate on the sensation, do you think you could feel it?"

Something complicated happens with Cas's eyebrows, and Sam can't help a smile as he watches the dawning understanding on Cas's face. "Here," Sam says, taking Cas's hand and turning it palm up. "Close your eyes. Concentrate."

Cas turns a skeptical look on him, but closes his eyes. Sam waits for just a moment, wanting Cas to settle before he does anything. "What am I supposed to concentrate on?"

"Shhh," Sam says. "You'll know."

The breath Cas huffs out isn't as annoyed as he pretends to be. He's picking up some bad habits from Dean. Sam watches Cas for a little while longer. Cas's vessel is alive; Sam's watched him breathe, felt his pulse. Jimmy's body is apparently on autopilot, which is good, but Sam's betting it can still do the things human bodies are meant to do, too, which is great. Maybe Cas will get to taste another PB&J after all.

It's easy to see when Cas gets uncomfortable – his breathing speeds up. Sam waits, holding Cas's hand in his, still palm up, waiting for Cas to be primed. Two more breaths, then three, and then there's a hitch that says Cas has _noticed_ his body is breathing, and then a held breath that means Cas is trying to control his breathing – ineffectually, since he sucks in air suddenly afterwards.

Sam leans down, puts his mouth close to Cas's palm, and breathes on it. Cas's fingers twitch and he sucks in a surprised breath, and Sam can't help the grin that's plastered on his face. He grins stupidly at Cas's hand, sending hot air over Cas's palm again.

"Sam," Cas whispers, and the grin slides right off Sam's face. His mouth is only a couple of inches away from Cas's hand, and suddenly he wants to place a kiss in the center of Cas's palm. It's a weird reaction, but it feels right and oddly reverent. 

He ignores the urge, but Cas raises his hand to Sam's jaw, and when Sam looks up, Cas is smiling at him fondly.

Sam can't hold Cas's gaze, so he squeezes his eyes tightly shut, but not before leaning into Cas's touch just a little. It's been so long since anyone but Dean has touched him with kindness.

"Hey fellas, what's going on?"

Sam's heart nearly beats out of his chest at the sound of Dean's voice, and he jerks himself back across the table, out of Cas's reach. 

"Nothing," he says, scrambling up and away from the table. "I'm sweaty, I have to take a shower."

The sound of the insult Dean throws at him is lost in the thundering of his own heartbeat as Sam hurries out of the kitchen.

~~~


	14. Leap Day

~~~

Sam had been right. Dean's planning on never telling him that, _ever_ , but just asking Cas outright about sex had been the best thing Dean has ever done.

Dean had tried to talk about it with Cas, but after a few minutes of stammering, Cas had cut Dean off with, "I want whatever you want," and Dean had simply nodded and gone nuts. 

He doesn't really have any hang-ups, so when they start kissing and then doing more, he just goes for whatever. Sometimes he plans for things he's liked in the past, or always thought about but never had the opportunity to try.

Everything has turned out amazing for him, and after the fourth or fifth time he started doing something to Cas only to have the tables turned and have Cas do it to him – until he came his brains out, usually – he stopped bothering to be upset about Cas's apparent lack of interest in getting off. 

It's not enjoyment Cas seems to get out of it, but after Dean comes, after his throat is dry and raw from babbling out Cas's name while Cas does amazing and terrible things to him, Cas seems content. He smiles at Dean and watches him with a clearly pleased look on his face. And not smug, either, like Dean would be if the tables were turned. Just pleased. Like he's happy Dean's happy.

Dean still tries to get Cas interested, tries all his best tricks, but Cas is never more than mildly confused when Dean does things like pin Cas's hips to the bed and suck his cock into his mouth. He tends to do things like pet Dean's hair, almost comfortingly. And then flip Dean over and turn the tables until Dean comes with stars behind his eyes.

They make out, sometimes. Dean enjoys kissing as much as the next guy, but it's usually the lead-in to bigger things. Sometimes Cas gets stuck there and they end up making out like teenagers, Dean rubbing up against Cas until he can't take it anymore and shifts things into overdrive.

Today is different, though. Cas's eyes are squeezed shut, for one thing. Usually he keeps his eyes open. Dean's never really thought about angels and their senses (or their vessels' senses), but it seems like Cas is extremely visual. He likes to watch Dean doing everything. Dean likes putting on a show, so that's okay, but it's another way that Dean knows Cas just isn't interested in getting off himself. His breath never changes, his eyes never close, he never gets hard. 

It's actually freaking Dean out a little, Cas's eyes tightly shut like this. But when he leans forward to kiss Cas, Cas moans a little. 

Dean doesn't know exactly what to do with that, so he continues moving forward into the kiss, wondering if something is going on that he should know about. He never knows how to ask that kind of thing, so he just pays closer attention. 

The kiss is languorous, slow and sensual in a way Dean associates with a particular kind of woman who is planning to take her time with him. He can feel his heart tick up, his breath coming fast when they break for a second here or there to catch their breath. Every time he breathes in Cas's vicinity, Cas moans a little. Soft, almost a whisper, and then Dean has to lean in and kiss him, because that's something Dean thought he was never going to hear again, those low moans of pleasure from someone he was with.

It takes a few tries to realize it's Dean's breath hitting his skin that makes Cas moan, but once he does, Dean uses it for everything it's worth. He breathes on Cas's neck, his chest, his stomach as he makes his way south – slowly. Everything about Cas like this is slow, and Dean's in no hurry either. 

They're quiet, for a change. Dean tends to be loud and enthusiastic during sex, a lifetime of figuring out the easiest way to communicate with his partner so everyone gets off satisfactorily. He reads body language well enough, but he likes to hear it, hear his partner enjoying themselves. And with Cas, that means he has to really listen, really pay attention, because Cas has never had much of a reaction, and the soft moans are, god help him, kind of cute.

When Dean breathes on Cas's cock, it stirs. Dean's dumbfounded for a long minute. He'd honestly thought Cas was never going to get it up, and there was a whole lot that was off the menu until Dean got off his lazy ass and bought them some toys. 

Cas's moan was a little louder, that time, and he's making wonder-face, which is one of Dean's favorite expressions on his partner, helping them figure out something they hadn't realized they enjoyed before. 

Dean does his best, considering he's never given a blowjob before, and this one seems to be made mostly of breathing on Cas's cock, which Dean thinks is probably a little out of the ordinary even for people who give lots of blowjobs.

After a while, though, it's obvious that breath isn't enough stimulation to get Cas to come, and Cas seems to be growing frustrated. Dean doesn't know what to do; every time he tries something besides breath, Cas stops moaning and looks confused. But there's no way to breathe on him enough to get him to come, at least, if there is, it takes more creativity than Dean's got.

He sighs, which of course, makes Cas's cock stir. He rolls his eyes and makes his way back up the bed to kiss Cas. Cas looks content, like he always does. 

"Thank you, Dean," Cas says, and Dean smiles and shakes his head, because of course Cas would thank him for _breathing_ on him. 

"Anytime, Cas," Dean says, tucking himself up against Cas for a minute before he falls asleep. "Anything you want, I'm your guy."

~~~


	15. National Dadgum That's Good Day

~~~

Sam tries to wake up early. He sets his alarm when he's trying to get a routine going, or when there's something really important going on. But if he can sleep in, he will, and often until noon or later, like his body's trying to make up for centuries of lost sleep. 

He wakes in the middle of the night or early morning sometimes. It's impossible to tell time in the bunker – no natural light means there's no way to set their body's clocks – but he usually has a sense as to when it's morning, afternoon, or night. 

He wakes suddenly in the early morning – checking his phone to be sure his guess is right. It confirms that it's 5:21am, and he rubs his eyes, wondering what woke him. It takes a minute for them to adjust, but when they do, he can see Cas standing in his doorway.

"Cas?"

"Sorry, Sam," Cas says. "I didn't mean to wake you. I was going to wait until you woke naturally."

The fact that Cas was planning to watch him sleep – potentially for hours – should probably creep him out. He knows it would be creepy behavior for normal humans, but Cas is an angel, and he's waited for Dean at the side of the road for hours, too, so Sam's not bothered by it. His concept of waiting (and watching, for that matter) is skewed, and Sam finds he doesn't much care. He trusts Cas, even now, despite everything.

"S'fine, Cas, what do you need?" Sam sits up in bed, wondering if he should get up and go to Cas. He's so tired, though, and the floor is cold.

Cas steps into his room. "I wanted to thank you for your assistance the other morning," he says.

Sam's poor tired brain has to flip back through the last few days, the research, the case, trying to figure out what the hell Cas could be talking about. He makes it to the morning Cas asked him for sex advice and groans. He thought he was done being their sex therapist.

"That's… fine, whatever, Cas, you're welcome. Go back to bed, Dean's probably wondering where you are."

"You misunderstand my intention," Cas says, and Sam flops back down to the bed and debates throwing the covers over himself. _More sex advice. Seriously?_

"What?" Sam asks down into the bed, his voice muffled by the bedsheets.

"Is there more?"

Sam sits up again, curious now despite himself. "More what?"

Cas takes a step forward and hesitates; Sam rolls his eyes and pats the bed. "Come on, have a seat."

Cas perches on the side of the bed, reaching out to take Sam's hand and turn it palm up. 

Sam panics, trying to pull away – he knows what this is about now – but Cas's grip is like being caught in a bear trap, there is no way he can get out of it without leaving pieces of himself behind. Cas breathes on his palm, and something twists up in Sam's chest. 

"Yeah, Cas, I remember," he says, his voice steadier than it should be for the stuttering way his lungs are working right now. "What about it?"

"Is there more?" Cas asks. "Dean did that to me, and I could feel it, and it felt good." Sam closes his eyes and prays for Cas to get to his point _soon_. "But it felt like he expected more."

Sam's not sure he understands. Did Cas only respond to Dean _breathing_ on him? Really? "Cas, when I said you need to concentrate, I meant on the responses of your body – not on what Dean was doing to it. There are a million different things Dean can do, you should be able to enjoy all of them."

"A million?" Cas asks, and Sam chuckles. 

"Fine, that's an exaggeration." _Though maybe only a slight one, considering Dean._ "But there are _a lot_ of things that can feel nice on your skin."

"Like what?" Cas asks.

"Like a huge variety of ways of touching," Sam says, rolling his eyes at himself for even having this conversation with Cas – and at this ridiculous hour of the morning. "Or all the things you can do with your mouth and tongue."

"Like what?" Cas asks again, and Sam's just tired enough to end the discussion by turning the tables, taking Cas's hand in his and licking his palm. 

"Like that."

Cas frowns. "But I wasn't concentrating. Do it again." Cas's eyes flutter closed and his mouth drops open just a little bit, and Sam blinks hard and swallows. This has suddenly shifted somewhere he wasn't expecting.

Still, he's unable to stop himself from leaning over Cas's palm and licking a strip up the center of it. Cas's fingers twitch and Sam smiles down at Cas's hand. "Oh," Cas says. "I see."

Sam presses a kiss to Cas's palm, a leftover from the last time they did this, something that just feels right. Sam's got plenty in his life he overthinks, but Cas isn't usually one of those things. 

"Okay?" he asks. "So, you're concentrating on _you_ , your responses. Got it?" He lets go of Cas's hand, shifting back down the bed and pulling the covers up. Hopefully, that'll put an end to the conversation.

Cas nods, curling his fingers in loosely, like he's trying to trap Sam's kiss in his palm. "I've got it, I think," Cas says, and Sam nods, turning away from Cas. 

"Great. Night, Cas."

Cas pulls the covers fully over Sam before leaving. "Good night, Sam."

~~~


	16. National I Want You To be Happy Day

~~~

Sam tries to spend time cleaning out his head on a regular basis. There's so much in there, and so much of their time is spent doing things where it cannot come falling out, that when they're between cases, when they're taking a little time for themselves, like now, Sam spends hours and hours cleaning out his brain.

This time, he's using his running time as meditation. He's running every day, still, sometimes twice, depending on the sounds coming from down the hall, and he's extended the runs to an hour or two, taking it slow. Long haul runs, keeping his body comfortable as he thinks and thinks and thinks… He's actually run so far away from the bunker that when he finally decided to turn around, he's had to walk the last couple of miles.

He starts with Dean, always. He knows how they are, he knows how Dean can get to him, most often obviously, in ways he sees coming. But there are insidious things Dean does, too, and Sam has to recognize them, examine them, and then let them go, because Dean doesn't change. 

If he holds on to his frustration and anger, it eats at him. He spends all his time being angry and blaming Dean for his problems, and then ignores all the bullshit he contributes himself. After the Mark, he's decided to let everything with Dean go, because there's nothing he can do about it anyway, and when he does let Dean see he's angry, Dean does really stupid shit.

So instead he takes a look at what he does, how he copes, what stupid things he's doing to himself, and fixes as many of those as he can.

Today, it's all about Dean and Cas. He's happy for Dean, truly. He knew they were headed for this, probably could've told Dean back when Cas first showed up. The way he talked about Cas, the way he looked at Cas, Sam could tell. He knew it would take a long time, and the way their lives have gone, he thought they might have missed it. He's glad they didn't – they both seem happy. Cas doesn't seem that different than he always is, though he's a bit faster with a smile than Sam remembers him being, before. 

Dean though, Dean is really happy. Sam can see it in everything, from the way he struts around the bunker to his weirdly domestic cooking habit to the sex noises that come from his room multiple times a day.

It's been a while since Dean's sexual appetite has been so voracious. That in and of itself makes Sam happy – there's nothing that tells him Dean is okay more than his sex drive being in _over_ drive.

And then there's Cas. Sam has a very different understanding of Cas. He doesn't really understand Dean's attraction, really, because for himself, Cas always carries part of Jimmy with him. Even though Jimmy isn't there anymore, and the body has been recreated and isn't Jimmy's anymore.

And that begs the question – why would God recreate _Jimmy_ 's body for Cas? He could've made an entirely new body, or not given Cas a body at all, but no. He recreated the body that they are all familiar with. Was that for Cas? Was it for Sam and Dean? Or just Dean? 

Sam hasn't ever really been attracted to a guy. He's appreciated them well enough to experiment in college, but it's not the same. It's not the first thing he thinks of when he meets a guy. 

He's seen Dean be attracted to guys, he knows the kind of guys Dean likes, and he wouldn't have expected Jimmy to make the list. So it must be Cas. 

Sam gets that. He has never told anyone, but he can see Cas's trueform. It's leftovers, probably, from Lucifer and Gadreel, but he can see the shape of Cas's angelic body around, in, and through Jimmy's body.

He ignores it most of the time. What else is there to do, really? But it makes things different. He's not attracted to Jimmy, or Cas's body, or whatever the hell they're calling the vessel now. But there is something beautiful about Cas as an angel that Sam can't help longing for. 

He's held it in check fairly easily, he thinks, because Cas isn't his type, at all. He's wearing a male body, for starters, one Sam wouldn't have looked at twice, even back at college, when he was making an effort. But it's not just that. Cas is something he wants _beyond_ a romantic relationship. He's not looking for sex, or even companionship, not like that, not from Cas. 

Besides, Dean is so clearly in love with Cas, Sam couldn't possibly get in the way of that. He would never do anything to take away any piece of happiness Dean can carve out for himself.

But Cas coming to him, asking him to help, those sex questions every day… Sam's helping Dean, he can tell that, he can hear it in the change of the sounds coming from their bedroom, but he doesn't think Dean would appreciate it. He doesn't appreciate it himself, even, because it makes keeping his feelings in check harder. But he hasn't been able to turn Cas down yet. 

Every day, Cas comes to him for another type of touch to add to his repertoire. Another way Dean might touch him that he wants to be able to appreciate. Sam's given him demonstrations on his hands and arms, and he always cuts their little talks as short as he can, but he can feel the pull toward Cas as inevitably as the tide pulling him out to sea. 

He tries to shift it, to move it into something less dangerous, spends a lot of time staring at Dean and how happy he looks. Sam is _not_ going to fuck that up for him. He's going to tell Cas to just… figure it out. Or ask Dean. That's what he told Dean, wasn't it? And Dean ran with that advice just fine.

Yeah, that's what he'll do. Tell Cas to talk to Dean. Easy.

~~~

Easier said than done, it turns out, because Cas is oddly persistent. "But there's more," Cas says, and Sam just shakes his head.

"I told you, Cas, you have to figure it out. Stop trying to identify the individual sensations and just appreciate whatever it is that he does. It's better, now, right? Now that you can appreciate some of what he's doing?"

"Yes," Cas answers, "but if I don't know what sensations to look for, I don't understand them when they come. Dean seems to think there is some natural progression, but eventually he does something that breaks my concentration, and then the moment is lost."

_Tell him to talk to Dean._

"What does he do?" 

Sam only half listens to Cas; he's stupidly weak about this. He's all twisted around, justifying it to himself, but he really _is_ trying to help. 

"Sam?"

Sam looks up at Cas, not even trying to think back to what Cas might have said. He knows what Dean would do next. "Close your eyes," he says, reaching out for Cas's hand. 

Of course Cas does exactly as told, and something about that just isn't right, but Sam's ignoring it because his stubbornness is genetic, and he can avoid the elephant in the room with the best of them. 

He breathes out as he brings Cas's hand close, noting the fine tremor that Cas tries to suppress. It's a steady, firm grip on Cas's wrist and a gentle touch folding down his ring and pinkie fingers, and then Sam puts Cas's first two fingers in his mouth.

It's not lost on him, how fucked up this is, but the moment his tongue comes up to meet Cas's fingertips, Sam knows he's lost. He used to think he had willpower, and that he had gotten over that bad habit of thinking he was doing the right thing when he was actually doing the wrong one. There is nothing about this that is okay, but there is some small part of him that can't stop, yet. 

This will be the last time. This is it, this is too far, he's going to tell Cas –

"What the hell?!"

Sam shoves away from Cas so hard, he scrapes Cas's fingers on his teeth. Cas is holding his hand to his chest, looking at Sam with big, hurt eyes. That's nothing compared to the swirl of emotion going on in Dean's, though, and Sam's mouth opens up and starts babbling nonsense, more than half of it just Dean's name, like if he says it with just the right inflection, Dean will understand. 

Dean might even understand – if anyone gets Cas's quirks, it's Dean – but not for a while. He needs to go away and cool off, Sam knows this drill, and his heart sinks as guilt floods in, heavy and thick and threatening to choke him when Dean turns and walks away. 

"Dean," Cas says, stalking across the room after him. 

Sam stays where he is, unable to move. He'll be here a good long while as he examines everything about this and what he's done, and why he did it, and the best way to apologize to Dean. It's a process that usually takes the better part of a week, but he's going to do it quicker this time, because if there is one thing he knows, it's that Dean is not going to leave Cas because of Sam. He won't let it happen.

Cas stops at the doorway to look back at Sam. Sam meets his gaze, unhappy to see something approaching pity in Cas's eyes. Sam doesn't need pity, especially when he's epically fucked up _again_.

"Go," Sam says, and Cas nods his head once, harshly, and turns to follow Dean.

~~~


	17. National Dentists Day

~~~

"Do you _want_ me to love your brother less than you?"

"Not _less_ ," Dean says, because Sam's part of him, and Cas has to understand that if a choice needs to be made, it's Sam that gets saved. He thinks Cas knows this, but he'll be sure to say it out loud sometime, just to be sure. "Just, maybe... differently."

"Your understandings of my love for you differ; is that differently enough?"

Dean rolls his eyes. "No, Cas, it's not enough. There are things that are only between us. You get that?"

Cas nods. "You mean sex."

Jesus, why is Dean the one that sounds like a twelve-year-old girl? "Yeah, for one thing."

"Sam would not want to have sex with me, so it is a non-issue."

Dean rolls his eyes. He'd think Cas was being purposely obtuse, but it feels like there's something else here that Cas is pushing his limits on, and it's scaring him – which also pisses him off. "No, Cas, I want _you_ to not want to have sex with _him_."

"Sex is not something I want in the sense you are thinking of," Cas answers. "I would want it because you do, and because I wish you to be happy and sated. But I don't think about having sex with Sam because he does not think about having sex with me."

Dean feels his mouth drop open a little. "So if Sam _did_ want to have sex with you, you would have sex with him?"

Thankfully, Cas doesn't answer with an immediate yes. He squints, like he does, and takes a moment before he answers. "I would discuss it with you first."

He wonders if this is simply the way Cas is, that it's going to have to be Dean that sets limits on their relationship. He hates the idea of limits on their relationship, or more accurately, setting limits on the way Cas can love Sam. 

"Do you want something else from Sam?" Dean asks. "Something… similar to what you want from me?"

Cas smiles indulgently, that knowing smile that Dean hates so much. "Dean, I love Sam the way you love Sam. And I love you the way Sam loves you. Unconditionally. Fully. The rest is all semantics."

"No, actually," Dean says. "Not semantics. I _don't_ love you the way I love Sam. It's different."

"Because of the sex?"

"Yes!" Dean throws his hands up. Why does it sound like he's the unreasonable one? It's not fucking unreasonable to get upset at the idea of incest.

"Dean, intimacy for pleasure isn't a bad thing. You are already intimate with Sam in ways no lover could ever come close to. He's been inside your dreams. You have been inside his nightmares. Your Heaven is a singular place – your souls are simply intertwined at a level ordinary humans cannot grasp. It makes you both who you are."

There's something about Cas's impassioned speech that's tripping Dean up, but before he can put his finger on it, Cas says, "Do you want me to love Sam less than you?"

That's the first thing Cas asked, but it feels different now, more weighted. And no, Dean doesn't want Cas to love Sam less than him. But he doesn't want Cas to love Sam the same as him, either. He also doesn't like the idea of Sam maybe being in love with Cas, though something's niggling at him about _that_ , too.

"No, Cas, I already said no."

"Then if everything between us is done with love, what problem could there be?"

Right. What problem could there be if your brother is in love with your… Cas, or your… Cas is in love with your brother. Not exclusively, of course, but also in love with you too. Let's just skip over the incest part of that and settle on this discomfort of sharing…

Fuck. 

Sharing his _boyfriend_ , ugh, all right? Yes, Cas is his fucking boyfriend, and maybe his brother is a little in love with Cas, too, because who isn't? And Cas apparently can't tell the difference between loving your boyfriend and your boyfriend's brother, and what the fuck.

If Sam had put the moves on Cas first, Dean would've given his blessing and put Cas firmly in the friendzone forever. But Sam's straight, anyway. Or mostly straight, Dean thinks. Maybe.

He doesn't even know what's bothering him about all this. Cas isn't going to do anything without asking Dean first, he seems to understand that part of the boyfriend code, and Sam would never do anything with Cas, not really, because he's (mostly) straight and he wouldn't fuck Dean over like that. 

Except. Except Sam had Cas's fingers in his mouth. And the look on his face wasn't typical Sam bitchface, or Sam long-suffering face, it was surprise. Maybe wonder. Maybe Sam _is_ a little in love with Cas and he's in the same boat Dean was before. But worse because Cas is with Dean now.

No, that's stupid. Sam's just lonely. Really, really lonely. 

Fuck, he can't think straight about this. He stops pacing, which he hadn't even realized he was doing, and looks up at Cas. Cas is looking at him expectantly, like maybe he asked a question Dean is supposed to answer.

"What?" Dean asks irritably. He's sick of Cas's not-really-oblivious questions, his fake naïve face. He's only stupid about human stuff when it plays to his advantage – Dean knows this from many years of Cas's weird ups and downs, and while dating and sex have never been part of the discussion before, he knows Cas isn't as innocent as he seems. He remembers Meg just fine.

"I said, do you wish me to avoid any physical contact with Sam?"

 _Yes._

Except. Except they've been getting touchier since Cas moved in. More backslapping, more hands on shoulders, more touching when they're injured or sore or need comfort. And Sam's always needed that more than Dean, and Cas has always been better at providing it without being weird.

"No," Dean exhales. "No, just… stop talking to him about sex, okay? You should be talking to me."

"Of course," Cas says, and then fails to hide a smirk. "Because talking to you about sex is so easy."

"Bite me."

Cas's eyebrows go up. "Is that a request?"

And you know what, it's not something they've tried yet, and Dean's two hundred percent done with this conversation. 

"It's a demand."

~~~


	18. National Be Heard Day

~~~

The most surprising thing, in Castiel's opinion, is that Sam accurately guessed Dean's next variety of touching, every single time.

Dean figured out the breathing. But when Sam went with licking next, that was of course Dean's next move, too. And then feather light fingertips tracing across Castiel's skin, a firm grip on whatever part of Castiel Dean could reach, open mouthed kisses all across Castiel's chest. Every time, Sam accurately predicted what Dean was going to do next. It was incredible. The two of them don't even understand the ways in which their souls are entwined, the details they share because they are part of each other.

Castiel runs a hand down the smooth skin of Dean's back, listening to the shift in his breathing that means he's waking up. 

Castiel had been content to engage in sexual activities with Dean. He even enjoyed Dean's attempts at getting him to feel desire. On occasion, Castiel thought he might have had stirrings, but his concentration had lapsed, and so the experience had been lost. 

Dean hadn't seem bothered by it, thankfully, so Castiel had kept going to Sam to uncover more sensations he might be able to concentrate on enough to allow Dean his play time. 

Sam hadn't seemed bothered by Castiel's questions either, at least when Dean wasn't around. As soon as Dean came anywhere near, Sam became skittish and uncomfortable. 

Guilt sits strangely on them, and perhaps most telling is that neither one of the Winchesters can tell just what they feel guilty for. 

"Are you going to talk to Sam?" Castiel asks. He can tell Dean is discomfited by Castiel's relationship with Sam, but also that he is trying to be magnanimous about it. There's a concentrated effort to trust Castiel and to give Sam the benefit of the doubt. 

If Castiel must give it an adjective, the one he would use is _pleasing_. Dean is a creature that lives on his instincts, and there are several conflicting ideas happening with him right now. Castiel knows he will eventually understand, instinctually before intellectually, probably, because that's who Dean is.

"Don't think I'll have a choice on that," Dean says after a moment.

Castiel hums. "He'll want to apologize."

"Probably." Dean shrugs. "Can't say I don't want to hear it."

"It's more my fault than his." 

The smirk on Dean's face convinces Castiel he knows. "So maybe you owe him an apology."

"Probably," Castiel says. "And I'll give him one, in time."

Dean turns over and looks up at Castiel, considering him. Castiel can feel the weight of his stare. "What're you up to, Cas?"

Castiel shrugs, elaborately casual. "I don't know what you mean."

Dean huffs out a disbelieving breath. "Don't think you're fooling anyone, man." He rolls out of bed and grabs a pair of jeans from the floor. "You want pancakes or what?"

~~~


	19. National Get Over It Day

~~~

They've gotten through worse, Sam thinks. Hell, they've literally tried to kill each other, this cannot be worse than that. 

And Dean and Cas'd had loud, raunchy sex less than an hour after Dean caught Cas in Sam's room, and god _damn_ it, why does that sound so fucked up? Sam's not having an issue with Dean and Cas, he's _not_. They're good, he's fine, it's all good, and it's just taking a little while for him to figure out how to deal with them now.

It's all so fucking confusing. Why did Cas do that? Why wouldn't he take Sam's advice and go to Dean, why did he keep coming back?

Why couldn't Sam say no?

_Fuck._

~~~

Sam doesn't leave his room for a day. Maybe two. He can't face Dean before then anyway, and even though he thinks Dean and Cas are okay – which, great, that's fantastic, at least Sam doesn't have to fix that, too, at least he didn't fucking permanently break anything there – he's scared as fuck that he really broke something between him and Dean, and the thought makes him want to throw up for eternity. He can't… fuck, if the thing that is broken is them, he… 

He doesn't know what the fuck to do. He tries to think of options, tries to be reasonable. He could leave the bunker, let them have it to themselves. Which would actually be okay, if he could come back and visit, if they would be on normal brotherly terms, instead of… whatever their brotherly terms are. If he could stop by and drink beer and shoot the shit, that might be okay. He might be able to…

To what? Hunt on his own? Fuck that. That is not something he's ever going to do again. Live a normal life? As what? He has no idea how to go about having a real job and an apartment and an electric kettle, what the fuck, how is that even considered a normal thing? How do people _do_ that, even without knowing monsters are real, without knowing an angel is dicking their brother on the regular? 

A life without Dean in it is simply unfathomable. He'll manage it, if Dean really wants him gone, but… he doesn't pretend to have any clue what he'll do with himself. Maybe he'll check himself into a mental hospital and take a little vacation from reality.

Fuck.

~~~

_Dean._

Sam sits on his bed, thinking of nothing. Trying to think of nothing. 

_Deeeeean._

Fuuuuck.

~~~

His new liver is fucking _amazing_. Sam flops back on his bed, the bottle tipping over and dribbling onto the mattress. Sam doesn't have it in him to care.

He's trying to be pissed at Cas. Or, he was, he thinks, when he started drinking. Cas put him in this position. 

S'not true, though. Cas just provided the opportunity. Sam's the asshole, the one who couldn't say no, who… what? It's not even like he _likes_ Cas, not like that. What the fuck had he even been _doing_?

_Fuck!_

~~~

It takes a full two days of self-recrimination, self-deprecation, and self-pity before Sam starts to breathe normally. 

If Dean was going to kick him out, he would've done it already. If Dean was going to break up with Cas, they wouldn't've had sex ten minutes after Dean caught him and Cas… doing whatever.

So it's just going to be super uncomfortable and awful and Sam will apologize and Dean will lord it over him and… Cas will… 

Fuck.

~~~

"Fuck." 

Sam runs his hand through his hair, takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"Yup," Dean says, taking another bite of his burger. 

Sam doesn't know what to do with that. There are about a million things he'd imagined Dean saying, but "yup" was not anywhere on the list. He doesn't know where to go with that.

"Uh," he says.

Dean shrugs. "I know you're sorry. I suppose I should say I forgive you, but there's kinda not anything to forgive." He shrugs again. "It's Cas, man."

"Uh," Sam says again. He's got all this mixed up junk inside him, and he thought… 

He thought Dean would help him sort it out. Knowing what Dean was mad about, knowing what Dean wouldn't forgive him for, knowing what Dean wanted from him. Now he's just left with… this messed up ball of shit, and it's all on him.

Fuck.

~~~

"Have a burger, Sammy," Dean says. "It's in the oven."

~~~


	20. Johnny Appleseed Day

~~~

Castiel waits until the brothers have made their peace, and then gives it a few more days. Dean wasn't wrong when he said Cas owed Sam an apology, but it wasn't for what Dean thought.

He stays well back of the two of them. The bunker is very large, and Castiel lays hints at a case not too far away that gets them on the road together. The Impala has always been where their relationship normalizes. She is a good influence on them.

He can feel the Winchesters, when they're not with him. He has to expend effort on it, but less with them than any other being in the known universe. He checks in on their progress, timing their trip and gauging how much Dean is speeding.

A lot. Castiel smiles. He knows Dean misses him, is hurrying to get home to share his company.

He can't read Sam – he has learned some extreme protections that make him impossible to glean information from unless he wants someone to. He never used to put up his mental protections to keep Castiel out, but he's been constructing elaborate thought dampening defenses, some magical, some simply exercises of the mind. It's disturbing, how much Sam knows about these things.

As soon as the door opens, Dean is calling for him, and Castiel waits for him to realize he is right there, simply waiting for them to come down the stairs. "Cas," Dean says, grinning, a big smile that Castiel can't help but match. Dean moves with purpose, crossing the space between them like it offends him by existing. He kisses Castiel as soon as their faces are anywhere near each other, an off-center, aggressive kiss. He pulls back to rest his forehead on Castiel's and then kisses him again, softer and more carefully this time.

"C'mon," Dean says, hauling his duffel bag back over his shoulder and heading toward the sleeping quarters. Castiel will follow, but he glances at Sam first. Sam is smiling, genuine affection in it, watching Dean move through the bunker and out of sight.

Castiel stays for a moment, waiting for Sam to stop watching Dean and turn his attention to Castiel. His smile becomes bigger, more amused. "Better go, Cas, or he'll be coming back naked in a minute."

Castiel wants to ask if everything is okay, if Sam is upset or angry with him, if he wants something from Castiel. He struggles with the question for a while before finally asking, "Are we good?" 

Sam's smile turns soft, and is accompanied by the tension lines on his forehead, but he nods. "We're good, Cas."

~~~

An hour and a half later, after Dean is sated and sleeping heavily in his bed, Castiel goes to find Sam. 

He's reading, engrossed in his book, something fantastical with dragons and swords and political machinations in a made-up world. It's an interesting choice, given what he knows of dragons and swords, and the political machinations of angels and demons.

Castiel watches from the doorway. He's watched Sam for hours like this, sometimes while reading, others while sleeping. He doesn't watch Dean when he does these things, or listens to music. Dean does not reveal himself the way Sam does when he does those simple things. Dean does not hide most of himself most of the time, so there are fewer secrets to discover when he lets his guard down. Sam is very different when he spends his time quietly, within himself. It is a pleasure to see him relaxed and enjoying himself.

It doesn't take long for Sam to look up from his novel. He steels himself, his face briefly showing an effort before going blank. "Hey, Cas," Sam says, turning the corner of the page down and closing the book. 

"Hi Sam," Castiel answers. He meets Sam's eyes, keeps the silence for a few moments, to see if maybe Sam will fill it.

Sam's lips twitch – a ghost of a smile, maybe – and he says, "What's up?"

Castiel inclines his head. He shouldn't put this on Dean's shoulders, but he thinks it might help, and Dean won't mind. "Dean said I should apologize."

Sam huffs a little, an almost-laugh accompanied by a shake of his head. "S'fine, Cas. It's my fault for not telling you to go back to Dean."

Castiel looks away. He can't hold Sam's eyes and let the lie stand, like the thing he needs to apologize for is tempting Sam Winchester. Perhaps it is time for a little truth. 

"That's not what I'm apologizing for." Clearly both Dean and Sam feel it is what he _should_ be apologizing for, but Castiel doesn't care about that. There are ways in which the Winchesters are so very _human_ , and Castiel isn't going to apologize for failing to limit himself in that way.

"Oh," Sam says, squishing his face up like he does when he's misunderstood something. It happens a surprising amount for someone so emotionally aware – sometimes he is the sensitive brother, attending to the feelings of their witnesses and victims, but sometimes he fails to connect, and often those are the people drawn to Dean, who will eventually open up and spill their secrets because Dean is a master at being vulnerable at just the right time. His instincts, Castiel thinks again. 

Sam is a master of conventional social mores, of the way humans are _supposed_ to act; he has studied it, he knows what it looks like, what it sounds like, and sometimes what it feels like. But it is studied, and it is not tied to his own emotion or judgment. It hasn't been for years. Castiel knows Sam doesn't trust his own judgment anymore. That wouldn't bother Castiel except that he shows no evidence of wanting to repair the missing pieces of his psyche that would allow him to trust those instincts again. Perhaps he has given up on them altogether.

Castiel sighs. Sometimes it is tiring to deal with Sam. "I apologize if I mislead you with my brand," Castiel says. Sam looks up in surprise, and then down to the back of his hand, flexing it to make the brand show up white against his skin.

"What do you mean?"

Castiel shrugs, an affectation he's picked up from Dean. "I don't think it is clear to you what the bonding meant. It is a complete joining of two beings, making them inseparable."

Sam stutters for a bit, getting off the bed after a moment and starting to pace. "That's… a little more than I was expecting, Cas."

Castiel nods. He thinks Sam has an understanding now. "There is nothing more intimate," he says, hoping all the possible meanings will become clear in time. "I had already pledged myself to you, and you and Dean had both done the same to me, with your oaths."

Sam stares down at the back of his hand again, and Castiel can see the gears turning in his head. He knows Sam will hit upon the idea intellectually the same way Dean has already understood it in his gut. 

"This is about more than family," Sam says, and Castiel can feel that there's some important distinction there for him, one Castiel doesn't quite understand. 

"It is," Castiel answers, because it _is_ bigger than family, even the all-inclusive Winchester definition. 

"Huh," Sam says, still staring down at Castiel's mark. "This is going to take me a bit to wrap my head around, Cas."

Cas acknowledges that with a tilt of his head. He had expected it to take some time. "I understand. I will leave you to it for now."

Sam looks up in surprise, catching Castiel's eyes. "Just for now?"

Castiel smiles, ignoring the weight in his chest. "For a little while."

~~~


	21. St. Patrick's Day

~~~

"Aw, come on," Dean whines, like that has ever been effective at getting Sam to do what he wants. Well, fine, sometimes it has, but not for years. 

"Maybe you can find someone to bring back with you."

Sam rolls his eyes. Dean's been more and more aggressive about getting Sam laid while they've been out on hunts. Sam went along with it for a while, because it seemed to make Dean happy, and gave them an excuse to have separate rooms, preferably on opposite sides of the hotel, so Sam could get away from their sex noises for a night or two.

Tonight, though, he's just fine with setting up in a room by himself, researching for a while, maybe reading for a while. Maybe catching some TV. There was that month just after Christmas of hanging out on the couch under Cas's blanket, watching whatever happened to be on and just being comfortable. Sam hasn't really watched much since then; it's not the same watching it by yourself. 

"But it's St. Patrick's, and we're in _Chicago_ ," Dean whines again. It's stupidly endearing, but Sam's actually invested in keeping his liver healthy, now that it's got a second chance.

Sam never drank near as much as Dean, which always made him feel like he was pretty average. When he started going to parties in college, though, or sharing a few beers with friends, he realized he drank _way_ more than most people. He'd gone off it in college, mostly, just a few drinks here or there to be sociable, but once he'd started hunting again, he'd started drinking again, and his normal was, as before, compared to Dean. 

Dean hasn't been drinking all that much since the new liver, either, but Sam's pretty sure that he has other ways of distracting himself from the demons that hounded him into the bottle. 

"I just want to stay in," Sam says. "I'm not really feeling all that sociable."

"But –"

"Dean," Cas says, putting a hand on Dean's arm. In the split second between Dean turning to face Cas and Cas meeting his eyes, Cas gives Sam a reassuring nod. "Let Sam stay in. There are enough celebrations in your future that he can skip this one."

Sam's not sure how much of a lie it is; he doesn't honestly believe there are a lot of celebrations left for them, and anyway, that argument has always been one Dean used to convince Sam to do something. You never know how many celebrations there are left.

Dean sighs. "Fine. We'll pick somebody up for you."

"Dean!" Sam says, stuttering through his horror at that prospect, but Cas pushes Dean toward the door, so the best Sam can do is yell, "Don't you dare!" as the door slams shut. Hopefully Cas will prevent Dean from doing something really stupid.

~~~

Clearly, Sam had been overestimating Cas's influence. That, or Cas doesn't realize Sam doesn't want that kind of attention anymore. Not the one night stand variety, anyway. 

The woman is very pretty, dark hair and eyes, which Dean knows is one of Sam's types, and her eyes go round when she sees him; either she wasn't expecting them to be telling the truth about having someone back at the hotel for her, or she wasn't expecting… Sam. 

"Wow," she says, looking Sam up and down. 

"Rena," Dean says, "this is my brother Sam. Why don't you two lovebirds to get acquainted?"

Her breath catches as she turns around quickly. "But…"

Sam can't see what she's looking at, but she seems to be trying to subtly suggest something about Cas, who she's sort of tilting her head toward.

"Oh, we're fine," Dean says, grabbing Cas's hand and pulling him close, slinging an arm around his waist.

"Oh," she says, "oh, I… sorry. I'm sorry – I thought…"

Sam laughs. Even when he and Dean go out together, people don't realize they're brothers unless Dean says so (Sam almost never says so; he has no need to declare Dean's his brother every two seconds; what does it matter? But apparently it matters to Dean, because he says it _all the time_ ). 

"Let me guess," Sam says. "You thought Cas was Dean's brother, and he was shy, so Dean was asking you for him?"

She looks back at him, her eyes softening when she looks him in the eye. Women do that a lot. Either he comes across as trustworthy or most of the men they know are total douchebags. He thinks it's probably a little of both.

"It's okay," Sam says. "I told them I wasn't really looking for any company tonight, anyway. I can give you a ride home, though."

"Oh, but…" She turns around to look at Dean again. " _I_ was sort of looking for some company."

Sam puts his hands up. "Great. Well, you three can hash that out in _their_ room, and –"

Dean coughs, and Sam rolls his eyes. "Are you kidding me? You didn't get two rooms?"

"We were lucky they had the one," Dean says, over Cas's, "I had to convince the –"

Sam knew this room was too good to be true. In downtown Chicago, on St. Patrick's day, what were the odds? "Then why did you pick someone up?" Sam asks. "It's bad enough the two of you are going to go at it like rabbits and…" 

He looks around the room. There's one king bed, and the vaguely uncomfortable couch he's been lounging on all night. "Oh, come on."

"Listen," Rena says, "I can take care of myself, if you let me watch. Please?"

"Sammy," Dean whines, that wheedling little voice that Sam found endearing a couple of hours ago. It's much less endearing now, and a little wobbly – which means Dean is probably pleasantly wasted. "You going to let her take care of herself? What kind of hostess are you? We picked her up for _you_ , and now you're being a jerk."

"Bitch," Sam says, semi-automatically.

"You're a bitch, bitch," Dean answers, and the look on Rena's face is priceless.

"Dean, I hear you guys having sex every day of the week, I don't really feel the need to get any closer to the action. I'll just clear out and you guys have a good time."

"I don't understand what's going on," Cas says, and Sam tips his head back as he closes his eyes. It's not fair to Cas to leave this on them, but damn, this is so not Sam's problem.

The room gets silent and no one is looking at anyone else. Cas's gaze flits among them all, and Sam looks down to avoid it when it rests on him. He's not going to explain this to Cas, that's totally not his job.

"Maybe I should go," Rena says, her face clouding over. "I didn't think it would be some big deal."

"Sweetheart," Dean says, his voice oozing something Sam thinks of as sleazy, but that seems to work on almost every woman that gets within a ten foot radius. Sam tries not to cringe. "It's no big deal, it's fine. Right, Sammy? Fine."

Sam sighs. It's not fine, not at all. He turns to Cas. "Dean picked up Rena for me, so we could have sex while you guys have sex, so it wouldn't be awkward that you guys are having sex in the same room as me. But," he turns to Rena with open, apologetic hands, "I'm not really interested in that plan. Rena here would probably be happy to join you two, if you're up for that." Another glance at Rena and she shrugs and nods. "But I'm done here, I'm going to take a walk."

Sam stalks toward the door. Let the three of them work it out. He's done.

~~~


	22. Vernal Equinox

~~~

Chicago was an unmitigated disaster.

Dean's not one to sit and think about his failures all that much, but something went way off the rails in Chicago, and he has a feeling it's because he's missing something with Sam. 

The plan had been simple: send Sammy home with some willing woman and take advantage of the king bed Cas'd magicked up for them. He hadn't expected Sam to want to stay in, but it's not like it's hard for him to pick up, even for Sam when Sam's not there, so it'd only changed the plan a little. They hadn't done anything like this since they were teenagers and there just wasn’t enough space to have real privacy in the motel rooms, but he figured Sam'd be too busy to pay any attention to the two of them. 

He hadn't counted on Sam having turned into a prude, though. And an ungracious, ungrateful one at that.

Something's wrong with Sam, and he can't put his finger on it. He'd thought it was just that Sam needed to get laid. But he'd gone along with Dean's nudges enough for Dean to know that wasn't a problem. He could hook up if he wanted to, he just… didn't seem to want to, unless Dean suggested it first. 

He thought maybe Sam was lonely. After seeing him with Cas, it hadn't taken long to cycle through all the feelings that punched him in the face. Anger, betrayal, confusion. But those were his, and when he realized there wasn't anything to get upset about – when he really, truly _believed_ that Sam and Cas weren't doing anything behind his back or to hurt him, he'd started to examine Sam's motives. 

He wasn't putting anything past Cas – Cas was sneaky as fuck, and likely had a plan in place having to do with him and Sam – but it was Sam that mattered. Even if Cas was planning something, Sam didn't usually fall for that kind of thing. So something must have been appealing about it, appealing enough that he'd been willing to do stuff he wouldn't normally.

Loneliness doesn't seem to fit. Sam doesn't seem sad. He doesn't watch Dean and Cas with bitterness or jealousy. He seems genuinely happy for them, and Dean's feeling fairly certain of that assessment of the situation, and Sam's mental state. 

So what is it, then? 

Sam feels… 

Incomplete. 

Dean sits with that for a while. He's only ever been in one real relationship, and Sam wasn't around for that. He doesn't know how things might have been different if he was; would he have come over for Sunday dinner and babysat Ben and… and just how _would_ he have gotten along with Lisa?

Dean always pictured Sam as the one who would settle down, get married and buy a house, and Dean would come over for Sunday dinner and babysit the kids (and be the terrible influence on them). But he never pictured himself with anyone in his life. 

And it's not like Cas is what any of them ever pictured. 

Dean's still got no plans for settling down, living that suburban life again. And Sam hasn't talked about it in years. Sam… has really only talked about staying with Dean, and Dean's guts twist at the thought. Has Sam really given up on the white picket fence? 

It's not like they have the opportunity to meet people under normal circumstances, but there's the internet now, and Sam's always been a friendly puppy dog sort, people are always drawn to him. Surely he could find someone if he really wanted to.

Sam doesn't seem to be in a rush to leave, even though Dean probably could let go at this point, enough for Sam to have an apartment somewhere, a stupid job and a girlfriend, Sunday barbeque and the four of them double dating.

The whole picture is laughable. Dean can't honestly picture Sam anywhere but the bunker. And then there's the fact that Sam would never bring anyone into the bunker that wasn't in the life – and while there are a few people Dean can imagine with Sam (that Eileen seemed to have taken a shine to him), it just doesn't… fit.

So what, then, Sam is just… going to be Dean and Cas's third wheel forever? 

It's not like that, though. Sam is never not welcome, anywhere, any time. And Cas loves Sam as much as he loves Dean, which is… something.

Something incredible, really. No one has ever gotten that. Not that Dean's had that many people even try to worm their way into a relationship, but even their friends and family. Only Bobby had ever loved Sam as much as he loved Dean. And Jody seems to like Sam better than Dean, which is bizarre, but fine. She always has seemed to get them better than most.

Lisa was never tested, though she knew before Dean did that there was no contest between her and Sam. 

And who else? Everyone else's eyes seem to gloss over Sam, like, oh yeah, there's Dean's brother, attached at the hip. But no one appreciates him the way Dean does, no one loves him like he deserves, not even Dean, because Dean's human too, and he's stupid and reckless and dies inside when he thinks of a life without Sam, so he says shit he shouldn't; does shit he shouldn't. 

But Cas. Cas loves Sam like he deserves. He loves Sam like Dean does. Or is it that he loves Sam like he loves Dean? Dean's never quite gotten that straight.

Dean takes a deep breath and sighs it out. That's the answer, then. He finds he's not jealous. He wasn't even jealous when he caught them together, at least, not for long. And Dean's the jealous type – he goes crazy over anyone who takes Sam's attention away from him (and now Cas, too) – so clearly this is okay. 

This is more than okay. 

This is the best idea Dean's ever had.  


~~~


	23. Good Friday

~~~

"Oh my god, Dean, _no_." The disbelief in Sam's voice is clear. 

"Why not?" Dean asks. "You heard him when he gave us these tattoos. We're all bound together now."

"I am not dating your boyfriend, Dean, that's just weird!"

"Don't say it like that," Dean says, and Castiel smiles at the earnestness in his voice. For once he is trying to convince Sam with the honesty of his intention, and it's a tremendous leap in his emotional development. "It's not like _we_ 'd be dating, we'd just be dating the same dude."

"I don't date guys!" Sam exclaims, and Castiel has to raise a finger to interrupt. "I know you're not a man," Sam says pissily. "You've got male parts, though, and I'm not really interested in those."

"Liar," Dean says. "You've been with guys before."

"In college," Sam says, "I was experimenting. I figured if you liked guys I should at least give them a shot. It didn't really work for me. And besides, I'm not looking to date _anyone_ right now, so I don't need your pity offering, or whatever the hell this is."

"It's not pity," Dean complains, and Castiel stands up and gets between the brothers, putting a hand on Dean's chest to settle him.

"It's not pity, Sam," Castiel reiterates, calmly. Quietly. "And it doesn't have to be dating. Or romantic at all. Dean just wants you to understand that he is not averse to us developing any kind of relationship that would be fulfilling to you."

"Cas," Sam says, the twist of his name in Sam's mouth sour and unfamiliar. It's disappointment, Castiel thinks. He doesn't like it. "Our _relationship_ is fine the way it is. Just because you're screwing my brother doesn't mean we need to be… whatever. We're good just the way we are."

They are good. At least in the sense of rightness Castiel gets when they're all in the same room. But Sam is not good. Sam is lost, and he doesn't even seem to understand that he is. 

Still, he can't force Sam into an intimate relationship, emotional or physical. He nods. "I am always available to you, Sam. For anything you might need."

"No," Dean says, and Castiel steps aside. His part in this argument is over.

"What do you mean, no?" Sam asks, confusion foremost in his features.

"I mean no," Dean says. "You need something else in your life, and don't even pretend you don't. You would never have let Cas come to you for as long as he did if you didn't."

"That was…" Sam's eyes dart to Castiel and back to Dean. "That's wasn't about _me_ , that was about you, and him, and what the hell, Dean, I thought we weren't ever going to bring that up again."

"Tough titties," Dean says, and Castiel is proud of the way he's standing his ground, how sure he is that he's right about Sam. It's convincing – even Castiel is nearly swayed. Dean's close, anyway, close enough for human work. "I saw your face, man. I know that look, that was discovery. That was smoking the good shit. You wanted that."

"No," Sam says, shaking his head and backing up until he's butted up against the sink. Castiel moves between him and the door to the kitchen; they can't allow him to escape now. "No, I don't, and I'm telling you, I'm not attracted to Cas like that."

Castiel can hear the crimp in the sentence – there's a kernel of a truth in there, hidden. Dean obviously hears it too, because he asks, "How _are_ you attracted to Cas?" 

Something breaks behind Sam's eyes. He doesn't answer, silently pleading with Dean to let it go. 

Dean doesn't push, which may have been his first misstep. Sam gathers his wits and closes his eyes for just a moment. "No," he says after he's brought his mental shields down and his face has turned stony. He turns to Castiel and towers over him. "Get out of my way."

"Sam," Castiel says softly, but he knows he's already lost. Sam has ended the conversation, he's just waiting for them to recognize it. Castiel hesitates for just a moment. Sam would not be able to move him if he didn't want to be moved, but Sam could, and possibly would, hurt himself trying to get past Castiel. He steps aside.

Sam stalks out of the room, and later, when they realize he isn't anywhere they can easily find him, a search of the bunker turns up one of the motorcycles missing. Dean just shrugs and takes Castiel back to his room. "Don't worry, Cas," he says, as if Castiel is the one that needs reassurance. "He just needs to work things out for himself."

~~~


	24. Easter

~~~

It's bad enough that Dean has lost his mind, but doing it on Easter weekend was the worst. Sam had had to buy a bottle from a bar that Friday night, and now nothing's open except the places that have Easter brunch for old people and huge families that don’t want to cook.

Sam did manage to get another few bottles of whiskey yesterday, though, so he's just holed up in the local motel, him and Jack and his rambling thoughts. 

He's not sure why Dean would suggest something like both of them dating Cas, especially when Sam's made it perfectly clear how happy he is for them. And he is – he likes seeing Dean content. It makes something in him relax, makes him believe maybe Dean won't be so reckless all the time if he has someone to come home to.

Sam's not reckless like that, never has been. His self-preservation instinct is just too high. He's just more naturally selfish than Dean is, which is why he has to keep telling them no until they believe him.

It's not that he thinks he could take Cas away from Dean, or even that he'd try, but that something in him latched onto the suggestion like a drowning man to a life preserver, and that is almost always bad news.

Sam knows his judgment is faulty. He hasn't really been able to trust it since before the cage, and while he knows Dean's just as flawed, he doesn't have anywhere else to go for validation. He doesn't trust his gut, and Dean is the only one around with a clear sense of purpose. He's a good man, he knows right and wrong and as long as Sam isn't in danger, Dean's judgment is sound.

But Sam's gut isn't even one hundred percent on board with this. Part of him wants it, fine, yes, he knew that. But part of him thinks he could somehow fuck everything up. He doesn't just think so, he knows so. He's fundamentally flawed, and introducing him into the equation means things will break. He just knows it.

He closes his eyes and pictures Cas. There's still no real sexual attraction going on there; it's more a yearning. His whole soul _leans_ toward Cas, like a sunflower turning its face to the sun. He doesn't want sex. He doesn't even know _what_ he might want from Cas, except his attention. It's intense, being the focus of Cas's concentration. Sam almost always knows when Cas is watching him. He can feel it prickle on the back of his neck. It's woken him from a sound sleep. 

Maybe they'd leave him alone if he agreed to… what? Girl time with Cas? Braiding each other's hair and talking about their feelings? Sam sighs. He doesn't even necessarily want to talk to Cas. It's enough to simply be close to him. It's peaceful, it short-circuits Sam's overthinking and leaves him able to just breathe. 

He could do that, maybe. Spend time with Cas alone. 

As long as they don't call it dating.

~~~


	25. World Party Day

~~~

Dean hadn't worried for the first couple of days Sam was gone. It's Sam; he can get himself lost even in their podunk little town. But he's further away than that, Dean's sure of it. 

Gone are the days when Dean could track Sam by lying to the cell phone company. Sam's the one that handles the accounts and Dean hasn't been able to guess his password since the cage. He doesn't like to think about why that is.

He might be able to take a couple educated guesses, or maybe Cas could pinpoint him, if Dean asked, but he knows Sam's coming back. He's just thinking somewhere quiet. Somewhere Dean and Cas _aren't_. 

After five days, Dean asks Cas to find Sam with his angel vibes. He has no luck, which Dean thinks is a little weird. "You can't hear him? At all?"

Cas's mouth tightens and he shakes his head. "Sam's started purposely shutting me out."

That worries Dean a little more, but he gives it another couple days before he starts looking up location spells. It takes him another day and a half to get the ingredients together, his mind screaming at him that it's been over a week, how has Sam been gone a week and not even a text to let Dean know he's okay –

And Sam walks in the door. 

Dean lets out a breath it feels like he's been holding since Sam left. _Fuck,_ Sammy's okay. And then the anger sets in. "You couldn't text?" Dean bitches. "Let me know you're not dead in a ditch somewhere?"

Sam shrugs one shoulder, a rough approximation of an apology. "You'd have known if I was dead."

That sounds ominous. Dean's breath catches again; there's a lot he wonders about Sam these days, with the access to so much magical knowledge. Is Sam becoming a witch? The idea scares the crap out of him.

"I don't want to date Cas," Sam says firmly, and Dean frowns. He'd been so sure Sam was wrestling with whatever inner demons he needed to take Cas up on his offer. He hadn't expected Sam to stick to his guns.

"But –"

"I'm not finished."

Dean puts his hands up. Sometimes it's best to know when to keep your mouth shut.

"Cas and I can hang out sometimes," Sam says, and Dean has to fight to keep a smile in. Sam went through a phase early on in high school where all the kids he was friends with "hung out" after school, usually at someone's house. Within two weeks, Sam always had a girlfriend.

Dean nods, trying to look as innocent as possible.

Sam sighs. "I know what you're thinking, Dean, but that's not what's going on here. I just need to talk to someone who's older than twelve at heart."

Cas has been silent for most of the conversation. He'd been going for the astrophyllite in the workshop when Sam'd come in; he'd found his way back to the map room silently and hung back. He frowns a little at the twelve-year-old joke, but doesn't give away his position.

Dean'd thought they were better than that now. They've been working on their communication skills together, and for his part, at least, he felt like he'd gotten better at it. He shouldn't care – Sam was just kidding and it's not the point, anyway, but it stings.

"Hey, I'm not judging," Dean says. "Whatever you want."

Sam's eyes squinch up the way they do when he's trying to figure out if Dean is lying to him. It's a little scary that Dean knows that exact expression. "You know that part of what makes this so weird is how non-possessive you're being, right?"

Dean shrugs. "Can't explain that one, Sammy. It just… doesn't bother me. I want you to be happy."

A couple of things flash across Sam's face – disbelief, confusion, maybe a little fear – but as he takes a breath and lets it out, he settles into determined. 

"So, yeah. Hanging out, maybe. Sometimes."

Sam looks Dean in the eye, like he's expecting something. Dean raises his hands in a vague "what?" gesture. It's not like it's up to him.

"If that's okay with you, Cas," Sam says, turning around and looking straight at the pillar Cas is half-hidden behind.

Cas steps forward with just the tug of a smile at the corners of his mouth. "Whatever you wish, Sam."

Dean takes a deep breath and lets it out silently, letting his guts untwist with the news. Sam's home and safe, willing to give this a try, and Cas is happy. What more could he ask for?

~~~


	26. Sibling Day

~~~

Castiel doesn't push. He knows Sam is uncomfortable with the idea of spending time alone with him. It's ridiculous – he's spent more time alone with Sam than he has with any human except Dean. But now the idea is charged, somehow. Humans. They're such a strange species.

Regardless, Castiel lets it go for a week after Sam's return, wondering if Sam will make some kind of overture when he's ready. After a week, he assumes Sam won't, so it's his responsibility to present a way for them to spend time together that Sam finds comfortable.

He sends Dean out on an errand, a long drive that'll get him out of their hair for a few hours and give Dean some time with the other love of his life. Castiel approves of the Impala. She is as devoted as any to the Winchesters, and while Dean may love her more than Sam, she plays no favorites. 

Once Dean is gone, Castiel goes to the kitchen. Both Sam and Dean like the kitchen and spend a lot of time there. Dean likes to cook, and will do it if he has someone to cook for (apparently cooking for only himself is not worth the trouble, something Castiel would like to teach Dean to think about differently). Sam simply likes the space, Castiel thinks. He will research in the kitchen (possibly because of its proximity to their caffeinated drinks) or look for hunts. Somehow it seems a more comforting space than the library or war room.

Castiel does what Dean calls "knocking around the kitchen" – pulling food and utensils and cookware out of their respective places and moving things around until they make some semblance of order. He's doing it perhaps slightly more loudly than he might, but lately it is a delicate process, attracting Sam to share space with him.

Dean has recently been trying recipes with vegetables in them. Sam keeps the refrigerator well stocked and Dean does his best to make vegetables palatable. It almost never seems to work, but he continues to try. The strange ways he is devoted to his brother make Castiel happy.

Sam finally pokes his head in as Castiel is chopping the second of five bell peppers. He has found a recipe that seems like it might appeal to Dean. 

He hums to himself as he works, a song he heard a long time ago that has stuck with him.

"Whatcha doing, Cas?" Sam asks, casting an eye over the array of things spread out all over the counter. 

"Attempting to cook," Cas says. "I'm trying to find recipes with vegetables that Dean might like. I could use your assistance, if you have the time and interest."

Sam's mental shields aren't drawn, so that's something, Castiel supposes. He continues to chop peppers and Sam jumps up to sit on the counter. "What do you need?"

Castiel concentrates on cutting the peppers into even strips of roughly the same size. He wonders if a measuring device would help. "I cannot actually taste anything," Castiel says, concentrating even harder on the peppers as he feels a beautifully simply sympathetic feeling coming from Sam. "I could use your taste buds."

That pulls a laugh out of Sam, and Castiel allows himself a small smile before looking up at him. "I meant it sincerely."

"I know, Cas," Sam says, clapping him on the shoulder. It is the first time Sam has touched him in weeks. "And I'm happy to. But there must be something else I can do. Are you going to cut all these peppers into strips? I can do some of them."

"Yes," Castiel answers, pleased with the simple, warm feelings he's getting from Sam. Either he has not realized Castiel arranged this encounter, or it's one of a type Sam is comfortable enough with that he doesn't have to guard himself. "Thank you."

The peppers are in 5 different colors, including purple, which was the most exotic color they could find at the store. It should make a pretty dish. Sam keeps eating the yellow ones, though, and after the third one, Cas has to slap his hand. "You will unbalance the color ratio," Castiel says, and Sam chuckles. "Please eat three of the rest of them, too."

Sam makes a face, one Castiel can't quite read, but he thinks it might be disgust. Still, he reaches for the red peppers and eats those and the orange with no hesitation. He tries the purple, tilts his head and eats the rest of them without complaint, and then stares down at the green.

"What's the matter?" Castiel asks. He had assumed the peppers all tasted the same and were different colors only for show.

"I don't really like green peppers," Sam admits. "I like yellow the best, then orange and red. The purple are okay, but green…"

Castiel has finished chopping the purple pepper and stares down at it. "I wish I could taste the difference." He's not melancholy, exactly, but there are some things about being a human that he misses, and food is high on the list.

"Oh," Sam says, looking uncomfortable. He sets down his knife and grips the counter. He closes his eyes and when he opens them, his mental shields – the magical ones – are in place. "I meant to tell you that I thought you probably could taste food if you concentrated on it. You know, like…" He shrugs and looks up at Castiel, finally. Castiel can read concern in his face, perhaps worry. 

"Like sex." Castiel finishes, and Sam's face takes on a pained look. So anything about Castiel and Dean is off limits. Or perhaps just sex. "I see. But what do I concentrate on?"

Sam visibly relaxes, taking one of the green peppers and handing it to Castiel. "Well, lots of things. But start with the easy stuff. Texture. Is it hard, soft, mushy, liquid? Rough or smooth, creamy or crunchy?" 

Castiel nods and takes the pepper, biting it in half as he puts it in his mouth. He closes his eyes. It is crunchy. He runs his tongue over the pieces of it, and one side is smooth but the other rough. Interesting. He chews it enough to lose any sense of the original ingredient and swallows. "It was smooth _and_ rough," he says. "And crunchy. Is that typical?"

"Yeah," Sam says. "Good. Now this time, concentrate on the flavor. Bitter, salty, sweet, sour? There's a fifth one they call umami, but to me it tastes…. earthy."

Sam hands Castiel another green pepper and Castiel looks at him. Sam has always been a font of unusual knowledge, but how exactly is it that he knows this? He shows very little interest in food, and the praise he gives Dean's food is more about Dean making the effort to cook than honest praise about the food itself. He knows Dean secretly hates it because he can't seem to hit on what Sam really likes. 

"How do you know this?" Castiel asks, taking the pepper and holding it up, staring at it.

Sam shrugs. "Food network is good background noise for studying."

This surprises Castiel even further. Sam has never seemed to care about cooking. He will cook simple things if Dean is tired or uninterested (but Sam deems he needs more than alcohol for dinner), but he never cooks for the fun of it, and he never experiments the way Dean does, with ingredients, spices, preparations. 

Castiel puts the second pepper in his mouth, biting it in two so it will fit.

"Press it against the roof of your mouth and suck," Sam says. "It'll draw the flavor into your taste buds."

Castiel opens his eyes and looks over at Sam. He follows the instruction, slowly and clumsily because he is not used to eating in anything more than a functional way, but when he does, he tastes… something. Presumably green pepper, though he can't honestly say he has had one before, so there's no way to know if this is what a green pepper tastes like. He thinks of the list of flavors Sam gave him. Some sweet, a little bitter, some earthy. He says so.

Sam nods. "Yeah, that's what I get, too. That bitter part, though? That's why I don't like green peppers. The other colors are sweeter."

Castiel looks down at the other peppers, and takes one of the yellow ones, clearly Sam's favorite, as the pile is roughly two-thirds the size of the other piles. He bites the pepper and arranges it in his mouth, chasing the pieces around his mouth because his tongue is not used to such intricate motions. When he finally catches a piece to press against the roof of his mouth, he sucks again, and is surprised at the way in which it tastes both similar and different to the green pepper.

Sam is right; it's sweeter and less bitter. Less earthy, a little, too. He chews and swallows, and thinks a moment before speaking. "I can taste the difference," he says. "Is there anything else I should know about tasting?"

Sam looks down at the orange pepper he's still slicing and half-heartedly shrugs. "I think those two things cover most of it. Temperature, maybe. There's a difference between hot and cold food. Some people think cold food doesn't carry as much flavor."

Castiel wants to ask him about tasting other things – Dean seems to enjoy using his mouth during sex, for example, and it had never occurred to Castiel that Dean might want to _taste_ him. It seems odd. He wonders if there are other senses at play during sex that he should be trying to concentrate on. He wonders if he can ask these sorts of things from Sam. Dean doesn't think in words, and while Castiel appreciates his actions, he doesn't always understand them.

He sighs. Perhaps another time. He can't jeopardize his time with Sam with those sorts of questions, not this first time. "Well, it's time to cook them. Let's try this."

Sam lifts his mental shields, Castiel notices with a shiver. The magic prickles in his grace, like static electricity, and it's a relief to not have it tickling the edges of his consciousness.

They spend two more hours trying to follow the directions in the recipe. Sam knows a fair amount, but there are words and phrases he looks up on his iPad to be sure. The peppers lose a lot of their color as they cook, Castiel notices, and he hopes the recipe tastes good enough to make up for it.

In the middle, there is forty-five minutes of occasional stirring with nothing else to do, so Sam and Castiel clean up the kitchen together, and Sam tells him about the book he's been reading. Castiel is not as entranced with stories as Metatron is, but he enjoys them, the creativity they require, and the way the human mind stretches to accommodate things it has never seen. Creativity is one of his favorite human traits. 

"Do you write, Sam?" Castiel asks. He knows Sam journals, and writes case files for the Men of Letters system, but he wonders if Sam might try imagining something other than his life so far.

"No," Sam says, laughing. "Of course not. I know what's really out there."

Castiel nods. "There's much more out there than what you know about."

Sam turns to him, eyes wide. "More than everything the Men of Letters knew about? Because I've learned some stuff while I was here, and… wow. I can't imagine there's more stuff than all this."

Castiel has to keep his smile to himself. That is the one thing about humans; so very short-sighted. "There is more. Infinite worlds' worth of more. But even so, Sam, Chuck's books should have taught you that every life is a story. Your story is clearly well loved. You could continue it. Or write something from your imagination, a place where things are different."

Sam is staring down hard at the table, probably thinking through the myriad of experiences that he has lived through, more than most humans could or would ever experience; more than is supposed to even fit within one human lifetime. Sam is the most unique of creatures, and he has no idea of his own value. 

Sam looks up finally and gives him a sad smile. "I think my imagination is probably best kept in check," he says, adding in a low murmur, "judging by my nightmares."

"No, Sam," Castiel says forcefully, grabbing Sam's hand and clasping it in both of his. "Your dreams and nightmares are not your imagination. They are your mind processing your experiences. They are your life. They are what's _real_. Imagination is something totally different."

Sam is surprised, in the way of a trapped animal, and Castiel pushes his advantage. "Imagination can be dark, yes, but it can also be light. Can't you imagine yourself in a situation where you are happy? Truly happy, and you have your every heart's desire, and there are no restrictions on you, no duties or requirements or people to save?" 

Sam is still surprised, his eyes round and staring at Castiel. Castiel pushes his luck. "Or think bigger than yourself, if you want. Great leaders imagine a better world every day – and that's how things change. You have that within you, Sam."

That breaks Sam's stillness. Castiel isn't sure if it's the idea that he could help, instead of hurt, or the pure faith that Castiel has in him and his mind and his ideas. Sam is so much more than he thinks he is and Castiel just wants him to see that, even if it's only for a moment; if it's the right moment, it can change Sam. And maybe the world, too.

Sam clears his throat, a polite gesture because he feels uncomfortable, Castiel is sure, but before he can say anything else, the timer goes off for the peppers and the moment is lost. Castiel has given Sam something to think about though, so he uses the distraction to release Sam's hand and bring their encounter back to something less charged.

They finish cooking the peppers, a lot of movement now, adding ingredients and watching closely, Sam looking up information on the internet and Castiel doing his best to follow instructions. 

When the peppers are finally finished, Castiel scoops them into a large bowl and brings them over to the table with two forks. He is interested to know what the addition of heat and all the ingredients will have done to their flavor.

Sam waits on him, nodding down at the bowl, like he wants to see Castiel's reaction before trying them himself. Cas scoops up a forkful of peppers, sure to get some almond slivers and at least one raisin, and puts it in his mouth. He closes his eyes.

It's warm, and soft, except the almonds. It's an odd juxtaposition, but he likes it. The dish as a whole is sweet but with something else in it, something a little sour, maybe. The bitterness is entirely gone, and there is earthiness in something else, but not the peppers. He presses the mouthful to the roof of his mouth and sucks, and the flavor gets more varied for just a moment before the sweetness comes back strongly. He swallows and opens his eyes. 

Sam is watching him with a smile on his face. It makes Castiel's entire being happy to see that uncomplicated smile. "I like them," Castiel says, and Sam nods and sticks his fork in.

"Oh, they're really sweet," Sam says after swallowing. "Dean might like these."

"Dean might like what?" Dean asks, coming in from the main area of the bunker surprisingly stealthily. Castiel underestimated his speed, considering how soon he has returned.

Sam hands off his fork. "Cas is trying to find recipes for you. Try this."

Dean looks at the bowl suspiciously, but when Castiel raises an eyebrow, he gives in and takes a forkful. He chews slowly, swallowing after a few seconds. "That's not half bad," he says. "Raisins are weird, though."

"I like them," Castiel says. They pop when he pushes them against the roof of his mouth. 

Dean shrugs. "Fine, I can pick them out, I guess." He looks at Sam. "You guys make anything else? I'm starving."

Sam smiles. "Nah, but we can throw together some burgers. I know there's ground beef in the fridge."

"That's what I'm talking about," Dean says, grabbing the pan from the peppers and rinsing it in the sink. "You and Cas can get the condiments ready to go."

Sam smiles fondly at Dean's back and Castiel suddenly realizes the reason Sam has never cooked for them, or shown more than a passing interest. 

This is a thing he intends to change. One of many, where Sam is concerned. He smiles and goes to the fridge to select vegetables for their hamburgers. Now that he understands how to taste things, he has a feeling there are many variations to discover.

~~~


	27. Earth Day

~~~

The first time Cas made some time with Sam, Dean completely missed it. To be fair, he wasn't looking for it, so when Cas asked him to go check in on some kids in Lexington, he did it, no questions asked.

He hadn't even realized it when he walked in on them, _cooking_ , of all things – like Sam has any interest in _that_ – and started making a real dinner. The peppers were pretty good, Dean has to admit, and he's not a vegetable fan. He's trying, for Sam, but he just doesn't like them, generally. Meat is more his style. And, well, pie. And donuts. And cake. Anything sweet, really, as long as it's not made with fruit. Except pie. Well, pie is generally the exception to everything, so…

Anyway, it wasn't until later – until Cas climbed into bed with him and gave him a tongue bath – that Dean'd realized Cas'd been sneaky. Cas is super-sneaky, and Dean knows it, so he's going to have to pay closer attention in the future.

He doesn't ask about the tongue bath – he likes being the focus of Cas's attention, gets off on it, even if Cas does nothing but stare at him (and he's done that, too). But he thinks about it, wonders what brought it on. He's guessing something during the time spent with Sam.

Later, he falls asleep draped over Cas, and when he wakes up the next morning, he's flat on his back, Cas curled up in the bed next to him.

"Morning, Cas."

"Good morning, Dean. Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah," Dean says, and it occurs to him that Cas doesn't sleep. He knew that – he _knows_ that, but he never gave it a second thought that Cas would be in his bed whenever he woke up.

"What do you do while I sleep?"

Dean hopes he doesn't regret asking. There's a lot of potentially creepy answers to that question.

"I listen to you breathe," Cas answers, and as creepy goes, it's probably the best Dean could've hoped for. "It's enjoyable to simply acknowledge you are alive and whole."

Dean rolls his eyes and scoots out of the bed, looking at his laundry pile and wondering if he can get away with one more day before he washes his jeans. He thinks so.

It hits him like a shock wave. If Cas enjoys Dean simply being alive, why doesn't he sleep in Sam's bed sometimes? It's probably just because he and Cas have a lot of sex, and it's probably easier, but… "Do you ever do that with Sam?"

Cas nods. "Yes, though from a distance. I watch him when he reads, sometimes, or when he's sleeping."

Dean nods, pooching up his lips while he thinks. "You never stay in bed with Sam, though."

Cas shrugs. "Sam has never invited me into his bed." 

Dean likes sleeping with another person in the bed. He'll never admit it – can't, really, because that's all he bitched about from the time Sammy started growing up instead of out and taking up all the room in their shared bed. He'd made such a show of making enough money to pitch in so they could have their own beds. He even believed he liked sleeping alone – used it as an excuse to leave women asleep in their beds after one night stands – until Lisa. He'd fallen into that _hard_. She let him stay that first night after Sam… 

...and he'd never left. Not until Sammy came back. 

He takes a deep breath. He doesn't go there often. Not just because of Lisa and Ben, which twists him up inside on multiple levels, but because of Sam. Thinking of Sam's body running around and Sam's soul still stuck in the cage, still screaming, being tortured, for hundreds of years while Dean hadn't even known it. The thought makes him sick.

He takes a deep breath. This is way too heavy for first thing in the morning. "Found a new French toast recipe," Dean says, pushing all those thoughts aside. "Thought I might try it."

Sam likes French toast. Dean's a pancake man, give him a short stack any day (and they're easier to make), but Sam has always preferred French toast. Dean's burnt more French toast than anything else in his repertoire. This new recipe puts them in the oven, though – he doesn't see how he can burn it if it's on a sheet pan. 

"All right," Cas says. He's never been the enthusiastic sort, at least about food, so 'all right' is off-the-charts levels of enthusiasm.

"Cool," Dean says. "We're going to need a few things. Why don't you wake that lazy-ass brother of mine and get him to take you to the store?"

Sam and Cas go to the store while Dean cleans up the mess from the night before. He's usually good about cleaning the kitchen right after cooking, but they'd had a few too many beers and Cas'd started licking his neck, and things had just gotten way too out of hand to stop and do the dishes.

"Nice hickey," Sam says, flicking Dean's neck when he comes in with three bags of groceries, including blueberries and cream. Gross.

"I thought so," Cas says, and Sam laughs. 

"Strong work, Cas," Sam says as he starts setting things they need out on the counter. "I got challah bread," he says, putting a puffy braided loaf on the counter. "And cinnamon. I thought we might add it to the egg batter, like that place in Portland."

Café Bijoux, Dean remembers. Sam'd talked about that French toast for weeks. Dean'd been happy with his pancakes, too, but not orgasmic the way Sammy'd been about the French toast.

"All right," Dean says, grabbing the bread and slicing it thick. "Let's do this."

Usually Cas helps in the kitchen, and if Sam's around, he's making coffee or researching, or just being in the same room and avoiding work. He's helping today, though – probably the promise of French toast. 

"So Cas," Sam asks, grinning down at the bread he's very carefully battering. "Those hickeys because you tried out the tasting thing?"

It's just no fun trying to embarrass Cas. Apparently angels don't understand embarrassment, or discomfort, or any of those things that make pranks fun. They'd learned that the hard way. Still, Sam seems amused, and looks over his shoulder at Cas, where he's leaning against the wall, watching them.

"Yes," Cas answers. "Thank you for that."

Sam hums, a self-satisfied smile on his face. Dean would be happy about that, except he's about eighty percent sure that Sam just made a reference to teaching Cas something about sex, and Dean is fairly certain he'd been clear about Cas not asking Sam that stuff anymore. He frowns, but before he can ask the question, Sam's on to whatever it is making him smile like that.

"You know," Sam says, laughter hanging back in his voice, "you can use suction for other stuff, too."

Dean nearly chokes on his tongue, which pulls the laughter out of Sam. Cas looks curious, in a benignly boring way. "Like what?" he asks, and Sam laughs again.

"I'll let Dean fill you in on that," Sam says, dumping cinnamon all over the top of the French toast.

Dean turns back to the food, shaking his head. The things he puts up with. "No sex talk over breakfast," Dean says, and Sam laughs. It's good to hear Sam laugh like this. It's been a long time.

"Who says you get to make the rules?" Sam asks. 

"I do," Dean says, "because I'm the oldest."

"Technically –"

Dean glares at Cas before he says anything else. They are not going to live by some weird-ass angel rules because Cas is a million years old. "I'm the oldest Winchester."

Cas tilts his head, conceding the point. Oh, Dean is going to like this. "No fruit for breakfast," he adds, because he's drunk with power.

Sam rolls his eyes, but when he finishes battering the French toast, he puts the blueberries and cream back in the fridge. 

"Any other stupid rules, your highness?"

Dean shrugs a shoulder. "Not right now. But there could be more any time. Constant vigilance!"

Sam snorts out a breath. "Did you just make a Harry Potter reference at me?"

Dean did, but he's only seen the movies, so it's not nearly as nerdy as it sounds. 

"Yes," Cas informs them. "Mad-Eye Moody's trademark phrase."

It's weird, Cas and his random knowledge of stories and movies and culture. It helps in some ways and makes it worse in others. Mostly Dean thinks Cas could be awkward in any circumstances, so he doesn't worry about it.

"You too, Cas," Dean says, crossing the room to box Cas in against the wall and kiss him. "Constant vigilance."

"Hmm," Cas agrees, kissing Dean back and pulling him in.

~~~


	28. Cinco de Mayo

~~~

Back when Sam and Jess were together, Jess's mom came down to visit on a semi-regular basis. More often than not, this meant that for the weekend, they went up to San Francisco or down to L.A. so Sarah could try out restaurants on her wish list.

Sam'd known foodies before, but none with the kind of money Jess's mom had, so he'd never had the opportunity to eat really _good_ food. She'd taken him and Jess to Bastide when it'd opened, and Zibibbo and Piperade and… most of the good food memories he had in his life were because of Jess's mom.

He started leaving the Food Network on as background noise. He began to understand how to choose good fruit and vegetables, how to prepare simple but tasty things. He and Jessica took some cooking lessons together. She was terrible at it but came along, mostly to play sous chef for him and tease him about becoming a snob.

It was the most domestic thing he'd ever done. He knew Jess was the one he was going to marry because she never laughed at him when he spent hours in farmers markets or grocery stores. She never made him feel awkward or uncomfortable when he was cooking. She always tried whatever he made, and always told him it was delicious, whether it turned out perfectly or was a charred mess.

It's not a purposeful secret. There was no need to mention it when he was first on the road with Dean, so he didn't. The years passed, the weight of more and more road food, and Sam eventually forgot that other life, the one where he knew things about food. 

Then Dean'd started to cook.

Dean enjoys cooking, and he's getting better at it. He still favors too much fat and simple food with no spices, but it's decent enough, and Sam eats it with vague compliments to the chef.

The strange time in the kitchen with Cas has brought those other memories to the fore, though, and now Sam's suddenly aching for good food and cooking, but he doesn't know how to offer any advice that wouldn't hurt Dean in some way.

Dean's ego is surprisingly fragile, which is why Sam hasn't said anything since Dean took up his newest hobby. It's the same reason Sam never really got into cars. He knows enough, learned from Dean himself, but it was always Dean's thing. Now cooking is Dean's thing, and there's no way for Sam to bring up his history. Not that he wants to – there's so much more to it than he could ever explain, so many memories he thought he'd buried.

He hadn't really expected them to settle into the bunker, so he hadn't started taking a turn cooking – besides, Dean obviously loves it, and Sam wants him to have that. Mostly he hadn't even wanted to think about food in more than a functional way. At least until Cas.

Dean is brilliantly dense, sometimes. He walked into that first not-date-maybe-hanging-out session with Cas completely oblivious, which made it easier. 

He could tell what Cas was doing as soon as the banging came from the kitchen. It took a solid minute of breathing to man up enough to make his way to Cas. He just had to get his head on straight. It's Cas. It's just… being in the same place as Cas, doing whatever. They'd done it for months while Dean was off the radar having orgies with Crowley and Co. Pretty sure Sam got the better end of that deal.

He and Cas have done a few other things. Cas went with him to see _Marguerite_ at the local community college. It was guaranteed that Dean wouldn't want to go – not only was it in French, but it was about an opera singer, who was about as tone deaf as Dean. It was a good movie, Sam was glad to see it, and Cas was good company. 

They spend a little time in the kitchen a few days later, another vegetable recipe for Dean. It's probably the easiest recipe ever, cutting grape tomatoes in half, brushing them with olive oil and sprinkling salt on them, but it has a three hour cook time, so they pass the time playing board games. Enochian Scrabble, reverse Risk, something they completely make up with the board from Parcheesi, Yahtzee dice, and Uno cards. It's stupidly fun.

Dean is still just as dense as ever, coming in from whatever errand Cas sent him on and letting his nose lead him into the kitchen. The tomatoes smell amazing, and are about ready to come out of the oven.

"Smells good," Dean says. "Vegetables again?"

"Mmmhmm," Cas answers, flipping over a Draw Four card and pushing three dice forward.

"Damn it," Sam says, moving his token backwards twelve spaces and picking up four of the Yahtzee dice.

"What're you playing?" Dean asks, and Cas sets about explaining the rules as Sam pulls the tomatoes from the oven. 

They play to the end of their round as the tomatoes cool so Dean can see the game in action, and when Sam scrapes them into a couple of bowls he sets on either side of Dean, he's pleased to see Cas take one and taste it with his eyes closed – almost as pleased as watching Dean pop them like M&Ms. 

"Pretty good, Sammy," Dean says, and deals the Uno cards.

~~~


	29. Mother's Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for homophobic language.

~~~

Castiel enjoys rhythm. The rhythm of machines, of music, of life. He enjoys the cyclical nature of it, the way things repeat upon themselves and create grooves. Human cycles are perhaps his favorite, the ups and downs that dominate their entire lives, the small ones making larger ones, the symphony that a life's rhythm creates.

Dean is in a low cycle. He is moody and growly, and his sounds are all in bass timbres and jagged. Castiel smiles when Dean can't see him. He knows it would irritate Dean more to know that Castiel enjoys the sound of Dean's moodiness.

He briefly asks Sam if there is something he should attend to. Sometimes Dean's moods come with responsibilities for Castiel, and he can't always pick those rhythms up. It's an emotional curvature that is subtle and almost never his primary focus. "Nah," Sam tells him. "He always gets like this. Just take him out to a bar tonight and let him get into a brawl. He'll feel better."

This seems like strange advice, but sometimes Dean needs to _blow off steam_ , and there are a number of ways that can be achieved. A bar fight hasn't been on the list before, but Castiel is still learning the intricacies of the Winchesters.

He makes the offer to go out, and Dean gives him a grim smile. "Yeah," he says. "That sounds good. Let me just get my jacket."

It's his leather one. Castiel hasn't seen it in a while; truth be told, he assumed it had been ruined by one case or another. He wonders if it is representative of something, if there is a subtle signal here Castiel should note. 

Dean drives them. He sits down in the Impala and Castiel has a feeling they won't be going somewhere local. He hopes that the bar brawl doesn't come with too much drunkenness; Castiel can drive, but he can't navigate, and if Dean takes them somewhere further away than the local town, he's not sure he can find his way back.

It takes forty-five minutes for Dean to find the right bar. Whether he had a particular one in mind, or was looking for a certain type of establishment, Castiel cannot be sure. He looks at the rows of pick-ups in the parking lot and listens to the unfamiliar twangy music pouring out from the front doors and wonders what it signifies.

"Come on, Cas," Dean says, placing a hand on Castiel's back and ushering him toward the door. 

Castiel moves quickly, attempting to separate himself from Dean. He has learned from both Winchesters that except in dire circumstances, humans do not touch in public, except for appropriate greetings based on the level of emotional connection. The algorithm for when the Winchesters hug him – years, now – is one of the rhythms he has yet to decipher.

Castiel walks up to the bar and takes a seat. Occasionally the Winchesters will get a booth or play pool or darts, but rarely when they are in a bad mood. Then it is sitting at the bar, drinking hard and fast, until something breaks.

He doesn't order. He has no taste for alcohol, really, despite his many experiments, so he simply accepts whatever Dean orders for both of them. Whiskey, this time. That seems ominous.

"Thanks Cas," Dean says, clinking their glasses together when they come. "I needed this."

Dean drinks his in a single gulp, holding it up to the bartender for a refill. When she comes over, he puts up a finger while he up-ends the glass again, and sets in front of her. "Third time's the charm," he says, and she smiles tightly at him as she pours. 

She turns a more genuine smile on Castiel. "How you doing there, sugar?"

Dean frowns, and Castiel raises an eyebrow. It's rare that women pass Dean over, and unheard of that they pass him over for Castiel. For Sam, occasionally (though not usually bartenders), but never for Castiel.

"I'm fine," he says, raising the glass up to his lips and taking a small sip. She pours a little more in his glass, even though it was nowhere near empty. 

"That's on the house," she says. "Think you might need to hurry up to keep up with this one."

"Right here," Dean says sourly. 

"I see you," she says, standing with her hip cocked out, holding the bottle up like she's expecting him to need another refill momentarily. Castiel likes her. She's got spirit.

"You _better_ see me," Dean grumbles, and Castiel has no idea what that means, but the bartender simply rolls her eyes and returns to the other end of the bar. 

"Is there something I can do?" Castiel asks. Dean rarely discusses his emotional states, but once in a while, he can be surprised into it, especially if drunk.

Dean picks up his whiskey and takes a moderate sip. "You already have, Cas. I don't even know how to count the ways you've saved my life."

As confessions go, it's not particularly revealing. He has saved Dean's life on a number of occasions – and Dean has saved Castiel's in turn. He knows the Winchesters have a strange idea of fairness, but he hadn't expected they were actually counting the number of times lives had been saved. He doesn't know if it means he is responsible for more saves, or if perhaps Dean feels he owes Castiel. Dean is weirdly incomprehensible to Castiel when he uses words to describe his internal landscape. It's all shorthand and nicknames and concepts Castiel doesn't quite grasp. Dean is exhausting.

Dean turns on his stool to face Castiel. He peeks over his shoulder at the bartender, and she glances up at them. He's smiling when he brings his gaze back to Castiel. "Thanks, Cas."

Castiel briefly glances around the room. He feels like he has missed something important, but his attention is focused back on Dean when Dean's warm hands come to his neck, pulling him down into a kiss.

Castiel is on high alert. Dean does not usually touch him in public, much less kiss him. He doesn't even kiss Castiel in front of Sam most of the time, and this feels… dangerous.

"Hey," a low, rough voice says from behind Dean. "This ain't that kind of bar."

Dean hums as he releases the kiss; Castiel can feel the laughter in it. Dean's mood has lightened considerably. Perhaps Sam was right and Dean was just looking for a fight. 

Dean swivels around on his bar stool, setting one leg down on the ground, leaning backward. Castiel immediately comes off his seat to stand; he does not want to be caught off guard if he will need to fight.

"What kind of bar is it?" Dean asks, looking every bit the cocky human Castiel was in awe of when they first met, years ago. He picks up his whiskey glass and gestures it at the man, who, Castiel can see now, is a large, thick man in jeans and a heavy flannel shirt. He's paunchy, but with obvious muscles underneath – someone who works physically for a living, and hard. 

"Not one for cocksuckers and faggots," the man says, and Castiel can feel Dean bristle. 

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?" Dean asks, and something clicks in Castiel's computation of Dean's rhythm. It is Mother's Day. 

In another familiar rhythm, Dean slides forward off the chair, all momentum and anger, and his fist slams into the face of the man who'd confronted him. It's a solid hit, and it sends the guy reeling, but he doesn't go down. Considering the force of Dean's punch, that concerns Castiel. 

The bar grows eerily silent, and several men step forward to back up the man, who's recovered and is angrily stomping his way back to Dean. Castiel can smell the adrenaline coming off of Dean, and he takes a step forward, hoping to prevent too much harm from being done.

"Let the _men_ fight, missy," someone throws from the crowd, and Castiel might consider it, but Dean is inebriated, and now that Castiel has figured out what this is all about, he intends to have Dean deal with it in a healthier way. 

He steps in front of Dean, gaining him a growl of frustration from Dean as well as a sneer from the large, intolerant man. "I don't mind hitting girls," he says, and puts his hand on Castiel's shoulder, as if to shove him aside. Castiel changes the composition of his atoms and watches as… Carl Menkarini… turns red in the face, trying to push him out of the way. "What the hell?" he asks rhetorically, and apparently decides Castiel deserves a punch too.

He breaks his hand on Castiel's jaw and goes down to his knees, clutching his swollen fist.

"Damn it, Cas," Dean grumps, turning back to the bar. "Bartender!" 

She hurries down the bar and accepts the wad of bills Dean hands her, scurrying away as quickly as she came. "Come on, Cas," Dean says, but Castiel shakes off Dean's hand on his shoulder.

He leans down over Carl and says, quietly, "It's not your place to judge other people, Carl. You should keep your opinions, and your fists, to yourself."

He heals Carl's broken bones, but leaves the bruised skin and muscles. He doesn't ever intend to purposely hurt anymore, but a reminder of a bad decision is often a good way to keep bad decisions at bay for a little while.

~~~

Castiel drives home. Dean has had his new liver for several months at this point, but four whiskeys in less than half an hour is more than it can take. Dean is currently in the front seat, looking remarkably like Sam, listless and staring out the window.

"I'm sorry if I ruined your Mother's Day tradition."

Dean scoffs. "Mom wouldn't have appreciated me getting shitfaced and into a brawl in her honor."

"No, she would not."

They lapse into silence for a few miles, until Dean raises a hand and indicates Castiel should turn left. 

"She wouldn't have minded me kicking a bigot's ass, though."

Castiel smiles. He's not fond of bigots himself, but he has learned that humanity has an enormous number of ups and downs, and it is rare that people are so simply good or evil, even bigots. "He will probably think twice about confronting homosexual couples in the future."

"Yeah," Dean sighs. "Maybe."

Castiel lets the silence pile up again while he considers if he should attempt to talk to Dean about his mother. He assumes Dean misses her, misses the normal sort of life he might have had if she was alive for more of it. 

He also assumes Dean understands that there is no reason to consider the "what if"s of the situation; that only invites bad blood and certain types of djinn. That said, Dean is entitled to comfort where he might find it. Castiel simply doesn't know how to offer comfort; or more precisely, _what_ to offer as comfort.

He offers his silence, and he thinks Dean accepts it, as his listlessness turns to relaxation, and his hand creeps across the seat to rest on Castiel's thigh.

~~~

Sam hears the Impala pull into the garage, her engine rumbling loud enough to echo down the hallways. Dean and Cas have come back, hours earlier than he would've expected. He turns off the TV and holds his breath. If Dean got hurt so badly Cas needed to bring him home, he's going to need Sam's help taking care of Dean.

He can hear two sets of footsteps, steady and even, so he dares to hope Dean is okay, and maybe only got really drunk instead of into a fight. He doesn't believe that for anything, but still, he thinks Dean is probably okay, and that's something that hasn't happened on Mother's Day for as long as Sam can remember. 

He waits, listening to make sure the footsteps head to Dean and Cas's room, and goes to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea while he listens for them to settle in. He holds his breath for a while, expecting sex sounds. But nothing seems to be forthcoming, so he slouches his way down the corridor in his bare feet and pajamas, listening closely at their door before he turns the corner to catch a glimpse. 

Dean is curled up in a ball, knees to his chest and holding on tight, and Cas is tucking the blanket around his back, twisting himself around Dean and whispering something softly into his hair. 

He looks up at Sam as he finishes tucking Dean in. Sam meets his eyes and nods, lifting his mug in a silent salute as he wanders back down to his bedroom, his lips curving up into a small smile.

~~~


	30. World Baking Day

~~~

Dean likes bakery. Pie is his favorite, of course, but he isn't going to turn down any sugary goodness. Sam's always been great at brownies – he swears he just follows the recipe on the box, but they always turn out perfectly fudgy and delicious, and Dean usually eats half the pan before Sam takes them away from him.

Today he comes home to a warm, sweet smell that he thinks might be cake. Cake has never been that high on his list, but bakery is bakery, and he doesn't turn down things that Sam and Cas make when he's out. For a while it was vegetables, but it took a detour to bakery after the asparagus debacle. It hasn't gone back to vegetables yet, but Dean expects it to soon enough. He's not going to turn down cake when it might have been spinach.

"Hey," Dean says, as he walks into the kitchen. "What is that delicious smell?"

"Cupcakes," Cas answers, and Sam snickers. 

Sam laughs a lot when he's with Cas. Dean remembers that, how Cas made him laugh even when things were hard. Especially when things were hard.

He's still amusing, but Sam's like a twelve-year-old around the angel, stupid not- _quite_ -pranks and goofing around. The way he used to be with Dean, back when they first got back on the road together. Suddenly he misses that Sam like an ache, that young, perfect, headstrong Sam with a quick smile and puppy dog eyes. 

When Cas turns around, he's holding a bowl and is covered in powdered sugar. Dean can't help a little laugh himself, because Cas looks kind of cute, especially because he's kind of annoyed. He continues stirring whatever is in the bowl, and it keeps coming over the sides and adding to the mess. 

Dean wants to offer, but there are certain lines he doesn't cross, and actually helping with whatever they're making is one of them. He can make other things while they're together, or stay in the kitchen and shoot the shit, but he doesn't help.

It's too early to start dinner, so he pours himself a mug of coffee and throws it in the microwave to heat it up. Sam's taken to unplugging the coffeemaker after he makes the morning pot, so it goes cold as it sits there. Sam says it burns the coffee, but Dean has his doubts. Still, it's easier to work around it than it is to argue the point.

He snags one of the unfrosted cupcakes – chocolate, of course, Sam's a real chocoholic – and peels the wrapper, gleefully ignoring Cas's glare and Sam's scolding _"Dean!"_ and stuffing half of it in his mouth.

"Mmm," he says. It's perfectly soft. "That's good."

He pulls out his coffee and takes a long sip before eating the other half of the cupcake more leisurely, sitting down at the table and kicking his legs out.

Cas still looks annoyed, though less at the bowl of powdery stuff and more at Dean, so Dean gives him a grin around a mouthful of cupcake. "Cas," Sam says, that tone of voice that Dean knows very well. "Let me."

Cas pulls the bowl away from Sam, the same way Sam used to do that sort of thing when he was a kid and wanted to do it himself. "No!" 

"Okay, okay," Sam says, smiling. "But can I show you something?"

"No," Cas says again, petulantly. 

Sam doesn't stop smiling, just nods his head. "Okay."

"Well, I'm going to make a second bowl anyway. Then we can have more than one color of frosting." Sam pulls down a second bowl and puts some butter in it. Cas looks pissier than Dean's ever seen him. 

"Don't patronize me," Cas says, throwing the bowl down on the counter. 

"Cas," Sam says, his smile mostly hidden under his "sincere concern" face. Dean knows it's still there, though – he can hear it in the sound of Sam's voice. "You don't actually know everything. It's okay if you have to learn some things, especially about stuff like this – why would you know how to make frosting?"

Cas huffs and crosses his arms. "Show me."

Dean kind of wants to drag Cas off to his room and kiss the adorably grumpy look off his face. He holds his ground. This is Sam's not-date and Dean's probably already intruding more than he should.

Sam starts explaining something or other about stirring, tipping the bowl toward Cas while he demonstrates. Cas concentrates intently on what Sam's doing, the same way he concentrates on whatever he's doing, and Dean is suddenly uncomfortably reminded of last night when it was Dean that Cas was concentrated on like that.

Dean shifts in his seat, realizing as he does so that neither Sam nor Cas would probably miss him if he left right now. He gets up while Sam's lecturing about the angle of the bowl and decides maybe he could spend some quality time with himself. 

No one even glances his way as he ambles out of the kitchen, and he heads to his bedroom, gleefully thrilled to be doing this while everyone's home and otherwise occupied. 

He strips down and climbs into bed, throwing back the blanket and covering himself with the sheet. He arranges himself on his back, resting his hands on his stomach. Whenever he has the time, he always starts with the visuals. It's not often he has the time, or space, really. It's not like he'd want to live alone, but it makes finding time to do this difficult.

The thing about it is, he doesn't know where to go. He watches porn still – not a lot, but there are times he misses women, and it's the only way to get a fix that won't get him in trouble. Cas doesn't care, and would probably watch with him, except that would take the enjoyment out of it. 

But none of that is really interesting him, and he has never fantasized about Cas because Cas in his bed is so unpredictable and game for anything that it seems pointless to fantasize about it when he could just ask.

Besides, what he's really interested in is _watching_. He wants to watch Cas work, concentrate on someone the way he was concentrating on Sam's little cooking lesson.

_Oh, no – no! No, no, no!_

Too late. His mind grabs onto that and suddenly he can imagine Cas pushing Sam up onto the counter of the kitchen, bossy in that way that makes Dean really hot, and peeling clothes off him, not waiting for Sam to help. 

Fuck, there has to be someone else he can stick in this fantasy. He reaches for the porn actresses he knows every detail of, but his mind is stuck on Sam and the idea of them fooling around in the kitchen. 

Dean sighs. Fuck it, there's no use trying to force his mind somewhere else, not when he's already getting hard. He squirms a little. The most uncomfortable thing about this is that it might really happen – and the only variable, really, is Sam, whether he'd be willing to let Dean watch.

Probably not. It's pretty fucked up, anyway, but that means Dean would have to hide, and that gives him a little thrill, too. 

He can picture Cas easy enough, but he's never seen Sam have sex, so trying to imagine what he's like is tougher. Still, when Cas is being bossy, the best thing to do is to lie back and take it, so his mental image of Sam does exactly that. He can hear the way Sam whispers Cas's name, breathy and full of awe. 

The Cas in his mind is exploring Sam's skin, biting and licking the skin over his hip. There's a moan, and he's half-aware that it came from him, but the Sam in his fantasy did it too. 

It's actually kind of nice, seeing Sam enjoy himself. Too much of his life is lived in the straightjacket of rules he sets for himself. Dean's got to pay more attention to getting Sam to have fun. 

Dream Cas starts in on a blowjob, and Dean finally takes himself in hand. He's on the edge, and it won't take much for him to come, now. He pictures Cas's methodical, insistent blowjobs, how he'd throw everything in the book at Sam until he found what he liked, and then not let up until Sam was screaming his name. Sam doesn't seem like a screamer, but Dean is, so that's what happens – Sam gets more and more vocal as Dean gets closer, and he lets Sam do something in his fantasy that he'd never do to Cas for real – he comes on his face.

_Fuck._

He's breathing hard after he comes, thinking about coming on Cas's face and wondering why the hell he's never asked. He knows Cas would let him – Cas lets him do anything – but it just feels too much like… 

It feels like writing _Dean_ across his forehead in ink. It feels like marking him. And whatever this thing is, whatever it turns out to be, he knows it's not supposed to work like that.

~~~


	31. World Whiskey Day

~~~

Dean's weird. Sam knows this. He's obsessed with porn. His taste in TV and movies is schizophrenic, to say the least. He eats like a twelve year old that never grew up.

This is weirder than normal weird, though. Sam knows that his relationship with Cas has been a bumpy one, and he's happy for the time they're spending together to smooth some of that over.

But Dean is weirdly invested in the way their friendship is developing, and it's starting to creep Sam out a bit. He's also doing that thing where he's kind of embarrassed about how invested he is, so he can't directly acknowledge it, and if someone hints at it, he either lashes out or walks away.

It's _weird_.

And then there's the jealousy thing. For someone who actually wanted Sam to date his boyfriend, Dean is strangely possessive of Cas, and can't seem to stay away when Sam and Cas are spending time together. Not that Sam cares – he's not going to date Cas, so it's not like they're doing anything illicit – but Dean's inability to let the two of them hang out without barging in at some point seems to be irritating Cas. 

And he has no idea why Cas would care. He's perfectly fine with Sam setting the boundaries on the time they're spending together, which means it's all very strictly platonic, and nothing that even hints at anything more. But he is still annoyed when Dean comes home early from whatever errand Cas sent him on to give the two of them time alone.

Which is another weird thing. Why do they need time alone? They're just cooking or watching stuff on TV that Dean wouldn't want to see. Sam doesn't mind when Dean traipses in and out when he's home, but apparently Cas does.

It all makes his head hurt. And means that when the three of them are hanging out together, things are a little weird. There's a tug of war happening that Sam doesn't even want to begin to deal with. 

Today is Whiskey Tasting Day, as declared by Dean. Sam doesn't like a lot of liquor; he doesn't drink it for the taste, he drinks it because it gets him drunk most efficiently (when he's looking for that). Dean pretends he's a connoisseur, and he may even have feelings about flavor, but with the amount of rotgut Dean has consumed in his life, Sam will never believe he's in it for the taste.

Still, Dean's spent probably a thousand dollars on a collection of whiskey for the day, and he neatly pours out a tasting portion into tumblers for them, taking a picture. When Sam figures out he's posting them all on Instagram he's again weirded out (Dean's relationship with technology is just as schizophrenic as his taste in TV) and also a little charmed.

The talk is stilted for them in the beginning, in a way it never is, usually. Dean explains about World Whiskey Day and waits for some input from the two of them. Cas just seems unimpressed, so Sam shrugs and says, "Sounds good," because obviously Dean spent a fair amount of time and effort getting this together for them. 

The first whiskey is one Sam can't even believe Dean bought. It's a pale-colored thing in a bottle without a label, called Kansas Clean. It doesn't taste like any whiskey Sam's ever had, either. It makes him itch to look up what, exactly, defines something as a whiskey. Grain-based? Distillation method? He keeps his curiosity in check, though, because if he starts researching on his phone, Dean will get upset.

"Ugh," Dean says, setting the glass down. "That's not whiskey."

Sam grins. "It's not like any whiskey I've ever had, that's for sure."

Cas drinks his and set the glass down without comment. Sam's fairly sure he wouldn't be able to tell the difference between any alcohol varieties, so he's probably just humoring them.

"Okay, next up, one for Rufus. Johnnie Walker Blue," Dean says, pouring it into the same tumblers and snapping a picture. Sam thinks if he wanted to be serious about this, he would give them fresh glasses, but he doesn't want to wash thirty lowball glasses so he keeps his mouth shut.

Dean actually savors his, holds it in his mouth for a while, swirling it around like mouthwash. Sam lets it settle on his tongue a little, but he's still not a huge fan of liquor in general and whiskey in specific. He lifts his glass and says, "To Rufus."

"To Rufus," Dean answers, and they both finish their glasses. Cas already gulped his and set it down, again without comment.

They go through three more, Dean commenting on each and Sam not really having an opinion, before Cas perks up. He's been watching them, silent and moody, something that's been building over the last week or two, like a slow-moving storm. Sam can't wait to see it finally break, Cas raining down… something on their heads. Fury? Disappointment? Cat memes?

Wow, Sam's drunk. He totally missed the fun stage and went straight to roaring drunk. Dean's got at least seven more bottles they haven't tried, and Sam is fairly certain that way lies death. Or at least throwing up and a huge hangover. Maybe if they had been able to drink them slowly, over the course of hours, talking about… 

What? Talking about what? They talk about hunting all the time, and random stuff as it comes up – it's not like he's ever held anything back from Dean – but thinking about hanging out together and just talking… he can't imagine what that would look like. They don't have normal jobs, kids or families that make up the majority of small talk Sam's engaged in in his life. They're together all the time anyway, it's not like they ever have to catch each other up on what's been going on.

Well, there are a few things they haven't been around for, but Sam really doesn't want to know what Dean and Crowley did on their little summer of love.

The other times they've been apart have been just as bad. Purgatory, Hell, fights. He's curious about what Dean did during those times, or even what Hell was like for Dean, but he knows for a fact Dean won't talk about it. Dean won't talk about Lisa, either, which basically means Sam can't talk about Amelia. 

Sam sighs. It's frustrating, the way he knows more about Dean than any other person in the universe and then in some ways, doesn't know Dean at all. 

"Is this boring you?" Dean asks, handing him his next whiskey – a scotch, one Sam knows, even. 

"No, just… thinking, I guess."

"About what?" Dean asks. "I always wonder what's going on in there when you look all distracted like that."

Sam suddenly wonders what Dean's internal monologue looks like. What does he think about all day long while he goes around fixing cars and doing research? Is it whistling emptiness? Is it complete focus on the job? 

It's probably sex. 

Sam sighs again. "Just lamenting our small talk skills. We should slow down a little."

Dean fixes him with one of those looks, the ones that give him more of a unibrow than Sam will ever mention out loud. "What is this, a date?"

Sam looks around them, at the war room and the bottles of booze, and laughs. "This _would_ be your perfect date, wouldn't it."

And damn if Dean doesn't blush. 

Which Sam of course cannot help both pointing out and laughing loudly at, because, what the hell, Dean? This is what time spent together is now, dates with his boyfriend and Sam tagging along?

Whatever. Sam's way too drunk to care, and he's actually looking forward to the scotch – he knows for a fact that this is a two hundred dollar bottle of scotch and he doesn't plan to miss it because suddenly he's a third wheel.

"Well, drink up," Sam says. "I'm planning to get drunk enough to not hear you guys have sex tonight."

"Sláinte," Dean says, raising his glass, and Sam brings his up to meet it.

~~~


	32. Tap Dance Day

~~~

"Dean."

Dean looks up from cleaning his guns, open curiosity on his face. Castiel experiences a twinge of guilt over ruining Dean's simple good mood, but he cannot allow this to go on any longer. It must be addressed.

"You must stop injecting yourself into my time with Sam."

Dean's eyes go very wide, and Castiel can feel the multitude of feelings rolling through Dean. Surprise, guilt, anger, other, more complicated feelings. "He never said he minds," Dean says, which tells Castiel that Dean has at least noticed Castiel's own frustration.

"It's not about Sam. This is my desire."

Now there is hurt, questioning, longing, some jealousy. "So you _are_ trying to get with Sam."

Castiel sighs. Everything is about this strange view of romantic love with them. "I am not trying to do anything except what Sam wants. I simply do not like the way his attention is divided when you are present. He gravitates toward you, Dean."

Dean has no feelings about that statement. It's odd, like he understands it to be a statement of fact, so he has no need to examine it. 

"So we can't hang out together? It's always going to be only two of us? That sucks, dude."

Castiel rolls his eyes. "Don't be obtuse. Sam doesn't knock on your door when we are having sex. You should stay away when we are in the kitchen."

Hurt again. "What is with that?" This time, Dean's hurt is more about Sam; clearly he sees Sam's odd reticence about food too, and is upset that he doesn't understand and Sam has never bothered to explain it.

Castiel can't explain it either, he only knows that Sam limits himself because he knows Dean might walk in at any moment. "I believe he doesn't want to hurt your feelings."

"About what? Cooking? I'm not a housewife, for fuck's sake."

Dean's feelings are complex. His feelings are hurt, but Castiel thinks it's more because there is something about Sam, a whole side of him, that Dean doesn't know, than that Sam might outshine him in this arena. Dean also enjoys cooking, though, and Castiel knows it's this enjoyment Sam is loath to upset by offering suggestions or help.

"He has a different experience with food than you do; he has different tastes. I believe the saying is that he doesn't want to step on your toes."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Right, because I mind _not_ doing work around here."

It's bravado, mostly, Castiel thinks. Dean wouldn't want to give up cooking entirely, and Castiel's guess is that Dean thinks he won't much like the sort of food Sam cooks.

"I don't think it will come to that."

The strange longing/hurt/jealousy mix comes to the fore again, and Dean does something Castiel has rarely experienced. He expresses doubt. 

"You're really not going to do anything but cook?"

Castiel shrugs. "We won't do anything sexual, if that's what you're worried about. You've already made it clear that even if Sam expressed an interest, you and I would discuss it first."

Dean's face pinches up. It is exactly the reaction Castiel was hoping for. Dean has already expressed an acceptance of the _idea_ of the three of them creating the intimate kind of bond Castiel knows will happen eventually, despite any and all misgivings of the Winchesters. 

It is not entirely inevitable, and the Winchesters are more stubborn than most, but they are his, and he believes, somewhere deep in their souls, they understand that. Eventually they will come around to his way of thinking. 

Dean instinctually understands this, and has even given it some conscious thought, considering his insistence on Sam and Castiel spending time together. But there is a deeply ingrained sense of ownership of Sam, and between that and the strange idea that Dean and Castiel must be romantically exclusive, Dean is actually jealous in two directions at once. It's a wonder he's not tied up in knots.

Dean closes his eyes and runs a hand over his face. "Right, no." He meets Cas's eyes. "It's okay. I'm okay with you and Sam doing whatever. You don't belong to me, you can make your own decisions."

That's patently untrue. The bonding means exactly that Castiel belongs to the Winchesters, but he appreciates Dean's attempt at magnanimity. "Sam has given no indication he is interested in that sort of relationship."

Dean nods, smiling wryly and looking away. "No, I know Sammy, and he may be purposely keeping things friendly, but he wants… well. He wants something from you. I don't know what that is, exactly, but I don't think that's for me to figure out."

Dean's emotions have calmed. There's still an undercurrent of jealousy, maybe a little hurt. But there's an instinctual understanding and patience that Castiel has come to appreciate. Dean understands they're in a metamorphic state. There are changes to be made, shifts in the tectonic plates of their relationships, and he's willing to ride it out. It's one of the reasons Castiel loves Dean.

He rewards Dean with a kiss, allowing Dean to pull him down onto his lap and turn the kiss sexual, their bodies close and rubbing together. "Thank you, Dean," Castiel says. 

"No problem," Dean says, pulling Castiel in for another kiss. It's another lie, but Castiel lets it slide.

~~~


	33. World Environment Day

~~~

"You don't have to leave," Cas says, which is rich, after the little _talk_ they had earlier in the week. 

"Yeah, I do," Dean answers, tucking another pair of jeans into his duffel. He can't look at Cas right now, or he might decide not to go. "Besides, it's been months since I checked in on those kids."

Krissy, Josephine, and Aidan are fine, he's sure, but that doesn't mean he shouldn't stop by and make sure they're eating their vegetables and shit.

"I mean, I don't want you to feel like I am trying to get rid of you."

Again, total bullshit, but Cas has that little uptick to his voice that tells Dean he's getting upset. He doesn't like Dean leaving, though Dean's not entirely sure why. Socks and underwear next, on the right hand side, rolled like Dad taught them.

"Cas, you want some time alone with Sam, right?" Dean stops packing for a minute and looks Cas right in the eyes. Cas meets his stare for a moment, but lowers his eyes before answering, "Yes."

Dean nods. He's got the right of this, he knows it. And he needs time to let his thoughts settle anyway, and there's no better place for thinking than the front seat of his baby.

"Then I'm getting out of here. Besides, those kids really do need someone to check in on them once in a while – it's a good a way as any for me to spend a couple days out of the house."

"I didn't mean –" 

Cas is close enough that Dean can haul him in and kiss him to shut him up. It's not an effective tactic most of the time – painful, really, but it's worth it this time. Cas stays quiet after the kiss ends, touching his forehead to Dean's.

"It's okay, Cas," Dean says, and he knows now that he's soothing himself just as much as his angel. That's okay, too. "I need time to think, you and Sam need time to do whatever, this is good. It's a couple of days, everything will be fine."

"Everything will be fine," Cas repeats, and Dean sneaks in for another kiss.

~~~

Dean thinks best when he's driving. He can sleep as a passenger, or research, but he can't stare out the window and puzzle shit out the way Sam does. It works out for them because he's almost positive that Sam can't think while he's driving. 

He stares down the road, lets his body sink into the seat, driving on autopilot, and takes out the pieces of the puzzle that he knows so far, examining them before trying to put them together.

He and Cas are… whatever. Boyfriends, lovers, whatever. They've been heading here a long time, he thinks, when he remembers the way his heart used to jump whenever Cas was around, the way he felt hot and confused and painfully desperate. He's never felt anything like this; Lisa was different, and so was Cassie, for that matter. There were sparks with others, Jo, maybe, and even Pamela, but nothing like this. Nothing so all-consuming and yet solid, like bedrock. Cas is everything to him, except for what Sam is. 

And even that – the whole talk he and Cas had before starting… _this_ … was confusing and makes his head hurt even thinking about it. Cas loves Sam the way he loves Dean – but they don't want to have sex. Or… Cas doesn't want to have sex if Sam doesn't want to… but Dean _saw_ them, he _knows_ that's eventually where they're headed. Cas's patience is legendary. If he can wait for Dean to stop being an idiot, he can wait for Sam.

His heart skips again. There's a lot there that makes all kinds of things go crazy in his brain. He pulls it apart, individual fragments of this puzzle he's piecing together.

There's some jealousy. He doesn't think he has it in him not to be jealous. The thing is, he's jealous of both of them. He's jealous that Cas is getting know this part of Sam that he doesn't know. He's jealous that there _are_ parts of Sam he doesn't know. He's jealous of Sam getting to discover Cas for the first time. Dean is still discovering Cas, and letting Cas discover him, but that first time, there will never be a first time that was so pure. 

Cas wanted nothing more than to give Dean what he wanted and needed. 

And Dean wants to know what that is for Sam. He wants to be there to see what it is Sammy needs, the things Dean couldn't give him.

And that just skirts riiiiiight around the edge of this thing, the idea of him watching them. He wants to see it, for so many more reasons than his own voyeuristic tendencies, though he doesn't discount that, at all. 

He wonders if Cas is expecting more from them. Is this just… some kind of relationship with Dean and Sam orbiting Cas? Or is there more? He wouldn't have thought that was possible, he's always been repulsed by the idea of him and Sam together. 

But it's only ever been an idea. When he imagined Cas and Sam together, there wasn't anything repulsive about that. There wasn't even anything that tickled him funny about that, he hadn't even realized it was sort of weird until way afterward, when he was going to tell Cas about it for kicks, maybe to get off again, and realized it was weird. All of it – thinking of his brother having sex, thinking of his boyfriend having sex with someone else, but especially his brother… what kind of person does that make Dean?

He's set out all the pieces in a neat row, trying to fit them together. They fit awkwardly, jagged edges and weird holes, and there are a few pieces missing yet, but they do fit. Whatever this is going to be – and he knows there's a way to go yet, which is good, because he's still adjusting, too – it's going to be okay.

~~~


	34. Best Friends Day

~~~

It's a stupid case. Some dumb vengeful spirit, too angry to make it to the afterlife, so it needs their help to move on. And they help. Violently.

It's good – just him and Sam, a nice, simple hunt. A little research, a little salt and burn, six hour drive back to the bunker where Dean is curious as hell to see what Cas has gotten up to without them.

"What do you think Cas is doing?"

Sam smirks at him, his smile like he knows something, which is such crap – Sam doesn't know anything. "Probably watching TV."

It's weird; Dean likes his TV as much as the next guy, but Cas is absolutely crazy about it. Sometimes Dean wonders if Metatron downloading all those stories in his head fucked Cas up in some fundamental way. He never used to care about any of this stuff.

Dean desperately wants to ask what the two of them got up to while he was checking on Krissy, but he knows better than to ask. Or at least, directly. Cas would tell him if it was something interesting, or if they'd had sex, which Dean doesn't think will happen for a while yet, if it ever does. Sam is scarily locked down that way. 

He goes with something else he's curious about. Sometimes it's easier to just ask. "So where'd you learn all this stuff about cooking?"

Sam glances over at him, surprised. Dean knows there are things he doesn't know about Sam. Those college years are time Dean will never be able to find his way into – there's just too much there lurking around the edges, and it's all water under the bridge now. But there's a lot Sam doesn't know about him, either, and one of those things is that Dean is genuinely curious about that time, and about what goes on inside Sam's head when he just sits and thinks, which is all the time.

"Used to watch Food Network while I was studying," Sam says.

Dean knows it's a pat answer. Sam has a few pre-recorded responses for uncomfortable questions, and they never sound the same as when he's being honest. "Bullshit," Dean says.

He wracks his brain for that night he broke into Sam's apartment, met Jessica and took Sam away from his apple pie life. He had gone to the fridge to look for beer. There wasn't any, which wasn't unexpected, but the fridge had been full which had been. "You take cooking classes or something?"

Sam turns to look out the window, so far Dean can't see anything but the back of his head – which Dean knows damn well means Sam is trying to lock down his expression before he shows it to Dean. Surprise? Usually Sam likes it when Dean surprises him. Embarrassment maybe? Dean doesn't know what there is to be embarrassed about, but Sam has weird reactions that way. 

"What, was it a secret?" Dean asks.

"No," Sam answers, too quickly. Embarrassment, totally. Dean laughs. That is _awesome_.

"You embarrassed?" Dean asks. He's got six or eight jokes lined up, but he changes his mind. Maybe if he gives Sam a little something, Sam will tell him about the cooking. "You know, after you left, I joined a dojo."

This time Sam looks right at him, all the surprise in the world registered on his face. "What?" Dean asks, amused, because sometimes Sam needs to be reminded he doesn't know _everything_. "I needed a distraction, and we stayed in that podunk town for another three months after you left."

"What kind of dojo?" Sam asks, and Dean can see it – he's actually curious.

Dean smiles, shrugging. "Aikido, I think. Don't remember any of it, now. I was probably a crap student at that like I was at everything else."

Sam's smile turns pained. Dean's just deflecting, he doesn't care about being a bad student – never has, really. That was never for him. 

"You know you're really smart, right?" Sam asks. "I mean, school was never your thing, but you think quick on your feet, and you can think around corners, that's stuff they can't teach in school."

There's a growing ache under Dean's ribs, this strange thankfulness for Sammy's praise. He knows; he's always known that he's got a certain kind of smarts that doesn't do well in school – Sammy got all those brains – but it's surprisingly satisfying to hear Sam say it.

"Yeah, Sammy, I know," Dean says. "Thanks."

Sam murmurs something, probably _you're welcome_ , but the embarrassment is back, so Dean goes in for the kill. He's offered up his little secret, it's Sam's turn. 

"So," Dean nudges. "Cooking classes?"

Sam's embarrassed, but he doesn't turn away, so Dean can see it plain as day on his face. He lifts one shoulder up defensively. "I liked it."

There are probably too many years between now and then for Sam to remember where his interest came from, but Dean's curious. Did he always want to cook? Did Dean's weird attempts at mac and cheese inspire him?

"You do it for Jess?" Dean asks softly. They don't touch on lost loved ones much, and it's always with a hushed reverence.

Sam half-shrugs again. "Kinda. Her mom used to take us out to fancy restaurants a lot. I was curious, I guess."

Dean blinks. _Huh._ Sam was a foodie. That explains so much. "So, you just don't like that anymore? Or what, you didn't want to hurt my _feewings_?"

Sam punches him for that one, but he's grinning. "You're such a proud mother hen."

Dean rolls his eyes. "And you've been letting me figure it out on my own – that's kinda jackassy."

Sam's eyes go round before he breaks out in a grin, and he gives one of his facial shrugs before saying, "All right. I'll give you some tips."

Now it's Dean's turn to punch Sam. "You'll be doing half the cooking, is what you'll be doing."

Sam sobers, giving him one short nod. "Good," Dean says, because it is – he likes that Sam likes this stuff, and it doesn't hurt that Dean'll get some time off. 

Sam goes back to staring out the window, and Dean wonders if he should broach the subject of Cas. He decides to start somewhere nearby and see if the conversation wanders that direction on its own.

"You know I just want you to be happy, right?" Dean says. He's not Sam's parent; he feels responsible for the kid, but their relationship isn't one-sided – they share, he lets Sam fuss over him too, when he's sick or injured. Still, that's probably the most fatherly thing he's ever said to Sam.

"Yeah, I know, Dean. Me too."

It's final sounding, like Sam doesn't want to get into it. For all the huffing and puffing, it's Dean that usually forces these conversations – not Sam. 

"I am happy," Dean says. How could he not be? He has Cas and Sam and there's no apocalypse on the horizon… things are good. "I have everything I could ever want."

He doesn't know what Sam wants anymore. He's not sure Sam does, either. He lets his statement sit for a little while, seeing if he'll draw anything out of Sam. Sometimes you have to be patient; Sam starts thinking about the answer to the question and the words get lost in his head before they can make their way out.

Silence settles between them for a while. Dean could let it go, if he wanted. They drift into silence like this easily, and it's plenty comfortable, leaving them each to their own thoughts. Dean's not quite ready for that yet, though. Even if Sam can't talk about what he wants, Dean can give his assurances, let Sam know he's okay, and that nothing Sam does is going to hurt him or Cas.

"Are you happy, Sam?"

Sam doesn't move, doesn't lose the far-off look that's on his face. Dean's not even sure he heard, but these conversations are delicate and take all of Dean's reserves of patience and self-control.

Sam sighs out a breath, the quickest look of sadness passing over his features before they settle into calm blankness again. "I'm not unhappy."

"Uh uh," Dean says right away, his heart breaking for Sam. It's not like Dean knows how to be happy, but he let Cas in, and he's mostly worked it out on his own since then. "That's not good enough, Sam. You deserve to be happy, to have what you want."

Sam shakes his head, his lips clamped tightly shut. 

"Yes."

"No, Dean, you don't understand."

Dean shakes his head. "Then explain."

Sam turns back to the window, staring like maybe he's planning on ignoring the conversation for the rest of the ride. He can do it, and those silences are not the comfortable ones. Dean can poke him for a while, or talk to him like he's getting Sam's answers, which, if he's honest with himself, he knows most of the time anyway. Or he can let it go and let the silence shift. Not this time.

Dean thinks back to when he remembers Sam being happy. Jess. Amelia, he supposes. Is that really it? Jess ended in tragedy, and Amelia… Well. Dean was kind of a bastard about Amelia. Sam still thinks he was in the wrong about that, and Dean winces, because that's his fault, at least partially. He was unforgiving after Purgatory, mean and angry.

"Sam," Dean starts, not even sure where to begin this apology. Sam sticks to the window, his eyes fluttering along with the scenery, not tracking on anything. "Sam," Dean says again. He doesn't have words for this. He doesn't know how to apologize, how to give this to Sam, an acknowledgement of his own responsibility for the way Sam is fucked up about what happy ever after means, permission to reach for it again.

"It's okay, Dean," Sam says. "I know."

Dean doubts that, but he desperately wants to take the easy way out of the conversation. "Yeah, but…"

He swallows. Best to just say it outright. He swallows, starts again. "You know there isn't anything you can do that'll hurt me or Cas, right?"

Sam shakes his head; Dean can almost hear the voices in there, telling Sam not to take anything for himself, not to want things, and certainly never to have them. 

"No, Sam, I mean it. You deserve to have the things you want."

Sam calms, purses his lips, giving Dean a sad smile. "I don't want anything."

Dean takes a deep breath and lets it out. There's no use arguing with Sam's inner demons. He's said his piece, he has to let Sam puzzle the rest of it out. He lets it go, lets the silence come up comfortable and follows his own thoughts down the rabbit hole as the miles stretch out in front of him.

~~~


	35. Eat Your Vegetables Day

~~~

For some reason, Castiel has always watched TV in Sam's room. Perhaps it was Sam's invitation those many months ago. Perhaps he enjoys being in a space whose very structure speaks so strongly of Sam. Everything about the room is reminiscent of him. The placement of the furniture, the items in the room, the order in which everything is store, the little pockets of disorder where Sam's interest has been piqued.

Whatever it is, when media is involved, he ends up in Sam's room. Even when Dean is watching. Then he and Dean end up on Sam's bed, which is, Castiel admits, confusing. It seems impolite to take Sam's bed while he sits on a chair, but this is the way it has always been.

When it's just him and Sam, he usually ends up on the chair. He doesn't go on Sam's bed unless he's specifically invited, and Sam only does it when it is Castiel-and-Dean, not when it is simply Castiel. 

The twists and turns of human propriety escape Castiel and wear on him in ways he would not have guessed. It's important to Sam, though; these little details mean something to him, so Castiel obliges.

They are watching Netflix, a show called Chef's Table. Sam is enthralled, listening to the stories, his eyes roaming over the intricately plated food as if he can memorize it. Castiel enjoys Sam enjoying himself. Sam is unprotected right now; he still uses his mental protections from time to time, but he hasn't in their cooking adventures for a long while. There is a quiet joy in these stories, this food, that makes Sam glow. He's planning something, too, ideas quietly ticking his brain and getting filed or discarded as they meet his whim. Castiel would ask, but it would just make Sam shut himself down, so he observes. Remains quiet. 

"Unbelievable," Sam says, of one chef who has chosen to forgo family, even his own children, in search of adventure. The chef briefly acknowledges it, a single moment of sadness that is shaken quickly when he says he must be free, he must continue to grow and cannot hold himself back.

That presents some conflict to Sam; perhaps he remembers his headstrong youth, where he managed to separate from his brother for a few years in college. It's momentary, however, as the plates of food present themselves and he sits up, eyes flicking around, capturing details of the vegetables and meat and herbs.

"Maybe I'll trying cooking a fancy dinner," Sam says. 

Castiel smiles. Dean mentioned that he and Sam had discussed Sam's cooking, come to an agreement about Sam doing some of the day to day feeding for them all. Castiel hadn't dared to hope that Sam would so quickly spread his wings to something like this. "That sounds lovely. May I help?"

Sam's smile is huge and joyful. "Of course. You can be my sous chef." Sam laughs, one of Castiel's favorite sounds, and grabs a pad of paper and pen off his desk. He makes some notes, foods and spices and other things Castiel doesn't understand. 

Sam pauses the show while he makes notes, muttering about proteins and acid and other words that have meaning to Castiel but don't fit together the way they obviously do for Sam. Sam asks his opinion about the fish course and Castiel can offer no advice. The only difference between sea bass and salmon to him are where they are found in the world. Sam smiles and thanks Castiel anyway – apparently that is in some way helpful.

Sam shifts onto his side, curling around his notepad as he makes notes. It's odd, not a position Castiel can ever remember seeing Sam in, and it makes him feel protective. Whatever this is, it has captured Sam's attention so completely, he has forgotten the boundaries he sets up around himself all the time. 

Sam scribbles for another half hour, muttering to himself and vaguely to Castiel before setting aside the notepad and yawning. "That's enough of that," he says, turning Netflix back on.

Sam's eyes are getting droopy by the end of the fourth episode, and by midway through the fifth, he's fallen asleep, his head resting on an outstretched arm. Castiel pauses the show, settling back into his chair to watch Sam sleep.

Several hours later, Dean returns to the bunker, slipping through the hallways silently. It is late, and Castiel knows Dean is trying to keep Sam from waking. He also knows Dean will come by Sam's room to check on his brother – it is the first thing Dean always does when he comes back from the trips he takes ever more frequently, apparently to comply with Castiel's wishes. 

Dean's eyebrows go up in surprise to see Castiel in Sam's room, and almost immediately after, he breaks out into a broad smile and gives Castiel a thumbs up. He shifts focus for just a moment to watch Sam sleep, a soft smile on his face, and then nods at Castiel, heading down the hallway toward his bedroom. 

Castiel has a moment of doubt; should he follow? Was Dean's smile and thumbs up permission to watch Sam sleep? Castiel would like to watch Sam sleep. He likes watching both of them sleep, but he rarely has the opportunity to do so uninterrupted, at least for Sam. 

Castiel settles in, letting his eyes roam over Sam's form, watching him shift onto his side. Peace steals over him as he watches, listening to Sam breathe.

~~~


	36. International Panic Day

~~~

Sam wakes, disoriented. Something's wrong, and whatever it is, it woke him from a dead sleep. He sits straight up in bed, and there's a noise to his right that makes him jump. It's Cas, still sitting on the chair from last night. Has he really been there all night? Doing what?

Before he can ask, he hears something – a low moan. He knows that sound. That's the sound of Dean having a nightmare. He throws back the covers and runs down the hall, Cas right on his heels.

Dean's still asleep when Sam gets to his room, sprawled out on the bed and reaching for something, moaning in his sleep. It's high pitched and whiny, like he can tell that something isn't right, but he can't wake up enough to know what it is.

Cas pushes in past Sam, stripping as he goes, tie, shirt, pants. He carefully lifts the covers and slides in next to Dean, and Dean immediately calms, turning to Cas and curling into him.

Sam should leave, he knows he should. This is private, way more private than sex – but it soothes something in him, seeing how Dean and Cas fit together. It makes him feel about eight years old, makes him want to crawl in with them.

Cas looks up at him sharply, and Sam curses himself for letting the thought escape. He's been lax about putting up his warding around Cas, thinking they'd got past all the weirdness about dating or whatever.

"You're welcome in this bed," Cas says. Sam rolls his eyes and heads for the door. Idiots.

"Sammy?" Dean mumbles. He rolls over and looks at Sam, bleary-eyed. "Everything okay?" 

"Yeah," Sam says, soft. Soothing. "You were having a nightmare."

Dean grunts. "Nah. Just weird sleeping alone."

And that brings up the question of Cas staying in Sam's room last night. What was he doing? 

"I was watching over you while you slept," Cas says, and Sam takes a moment to think through one of his warding spells, saying the words in his mind and dropping down a wall of protection on his thoughts.

"Sam," Cas says, and Dean mumbles something, pulling Cas in closer to him. "Please. I apologize if I overstepped my bounds."

Sam shakes his head. He doesn't care about Cas watching him sleep. "It's not about that, Cas. It's that you were supposed to be here, with Dean."

Cas frowns, his sadness echoing in the room. "It would be easier if you slept in here."

"No, Cas. That's not how this works. Dean needs you. You stay with him."

As if to prove his point, Dean buries his face in Cas's neck and throws a leg over Cas's thighs. Cas pets his leg and turns to place a kiss on top of Dean's head.

"This isn't about Dean. This is about you. You should join us. Dean would not mind."

Dean must still be just awake enough to half-follow their conversation. He lifts his arm from across Cas's stomach and throws it wide, toward Sam, mumbling something incomprehensible. 

"No, god, what is _wrong_ with you."

Now Cas looks pissed, and Sam has to concentrate to hold his ground. Pissed off Cas is scary. "What is wrong with _you_?" Cas asks. "You slept together for years; two boys on a bed not really big enough for them. Why is it suddenly inappropriate now? Didn't you find it comforting? Doesn't it appeal to you, sleeping close to your brother?"

It does appeal to him; Cas saw that much before Sam put up his warding. But it's dangerous, and Sam can't afford to put himself in situations where he might hurt someone if he's not in control, and that definitely includes sleeping. 

"Please, Sam," Cas says. 

Dean flops his hand around, his arm still outstretched like an invitation.

Sam is so weak. He should turn and leave. This is a stupid argument, who even does this as adults? He hesitates, staring at Dean's hand, keeping his eyes away from the rest of the bed, from Cas. 

He can't make himself move, though. He knows he should go, but he can't, his feet won't take him out of there. He can't do anything but stare.

After a minute, Dean must get tired, or maybe he conks out all the way again, but his arm drops, still half held out behind him, awkwardly. "Sam," Cas says. "Please."

Sam shivers. He still can't move, and the warmth of sleep has leeched out of him. 

Apparently Dean did not conk out because he rolls away from Cas, curling the other direction. "C'mere, Sammy," he says, patting the mattress.

Suddenly Sam is little again, not afraid, but lonely. He was always willing to play whatever card he could to sleep in Dean's bed, though. Dean probably knew, he was always smarter than Sam realized, and Sam was probably not particularly subtle. Dean never complained, though, never called Sam on it. Just patted the mattress, said it was okay.

Sam takes a deep breath and moves to the side of the bed, sitting on the edge with his back to Dean. He should leave. Why is he sitting here, why isn't he leaving? 

Dean puts his hand around Sam's waist, pulling him back into the bed, and Sam lets himself be pulled close, bring his legs up and curling back against his brother. Someone throws the covers over them and Sam's asleep in minutes.

~~~

Sam wakes some time later, warm and cozy and choking on his fear that he's broken something. He's wide awake in an instant, his mind racing while his body complains lazily that it's happy where it is.

Dean's still sleeping, his breath deep and even, his arm draped over Sam's waist possessively. The panic rises up, the paralyzing fear that he shouldn't be here, that this isn't his, that he'll break it for Cas and Dean. 

He checks his mental warding – still intact from earlier this morning – and rolls onto his back so he can slide out from under Dean's arm. He doesn't look to the side, he doesn't want to give Cas any warning. He needs Cas to stay put so he can get out of here, go somewhere far away from the bunker and get his head on straight.

"Sam," Cas whispers, clearly not wanting to wake Dean. Sam shakes his head, easing himself out from under Dean's arm and hurrying for the door as soon as he's clear. 

"Wait!" Cas calls, probably loud enough to wake Dean up, so Sam doesn't stop. He picks up his go bag from inside his room, grabs his wallet and phone, slips on his boots, and runs. It takes Dean a little while to wake from a deep sleep, so he plans his first ten minutes. If he can make it for ten minutes without Dean catching him, he has the whole of the U.S. in front of him, and he means to take advantage of it.

~~~


	37. Juneteenth Day

~~~

"Dean!"

Castiel shakes Dean awake. He would have gone after Sam, but Dean has rolled over and wrapped himself around Castiel, making it impossible for him to move.

"What?" Dean whines, and Castiel shakes him again for good measure; and because it is annoying when Dean whines.

"Sam just left."

Dean glances over his shoulder at where Sam was lying just moments ago and shrugs. "Probably went to get breakfast."

"I don't think so." Sam may be hiding his thoughts from Castiel, but most of his emotions pass over his face and are easy to read, if Castiel pays attention. There had been fear, and then disgust – Castiel thinks it was Sam's self-censure – and then desperation. To get away from them, Castiel feels sure.

"S'okay," Dean says, snuggling back down. "I put a tracker on him."

Castiel would be relieved at that, except he knows Sam is smart and probably found and discarded it. He says as much and Dean wakes up enough to roll over Castiel to get at his phone on the bedside table. He turns it on and goes to a website.

"Sure," Dean says. "That's the one I put in his bag," he says, pointing. The map seems to be malfunctioning because it blips all over the screen. "He dropped it in the bunker," Dean says. "Can't pinpoint anything in here, so it looks schizophrenic." He types something in on the phone and holds it up. "This is the one I put in his boot."

It shows Sam driving out of town, heading north.

Dean takes the phone back and types in something else. "And this is the one I put in his phone."

Sam, driving north. Castiel breathes out, tension leaving him. They know where Sam is. He won't have to watch Dean slowly descend into madness while he waits for his brother to come home.

He watches Sam's dot for a while, getting more and more concerned as it seems Sam is driving like a crazy person, taking all kinds of strange turns and double backs. "What is he doing?"

Dean watches it for a minute and laughs. "Trying to confuse his trail. He's probably stolen two cars in the last five minutes."

Castiel frowns, but allows himself to be pulled back down into Dean's embrace. "It's okay," Dean says. "Let him drive for a while – you can track him down once he's stopped for the night."

~~~

They have slow, thoughtful sex. Dean has many moods when it comes to sex and Castiel always lets him lead – unless his mood is that he wants Castiel to be aggressive.

This is Castiel's favorite, though, every single touch and kiss designed to incrementally move Dean closer to climax, no hurry, no tension. Castiel likes to appreciate Dean, his body, his mind, his soul, and Dean is embarrassed by it, but he also craves it. Castiel simply ignores the embarrassment, which seems to relieve Dean of that burden as well. That lets Dean sink into the sensation so he can accept Castiel's ministrations without guilt.

After, when Castiel is curled around Dean and Dean is idly rubbing his thumb over their intertwined fingers, Castiel asks. This mood is exceedingly rare, and Dean usually only wants it when he needs reassurance of some sort.

"Is everything all right?"

He can't see Dean's face – his head is resting on Dean's chest and he knows it is easier for Dean to talk about these things if he doesn't have to make eye contact. He can still feel Dean's sad smile, though.

"Yeah." 

Castiel struggles with that answer for a while. Sometimes Dean will be more forthcoming – actually answer the question Castiel means to ask instead of the one he had asked – but apparently this is not one of those times.

"Are you concerned about Sam?"

Dean shakes his head. "Even if I didn't know exactly where he was, I know what he's doing. He'll be back."

Castiel huffs out an annoyed breath. He understands the Winchesters will purposely misinterpret questions to avoid talking about uncomfortable subjects, but that doesn't make the habit any less annoying.

"That's not what I meant."

Dean sighs. "I know." He shifts out from under Castiel, turning on his side so they're facing each other, and Castiel can stare into his eyes. It's impossible for Dean to lie to Castiel when he's like this, and Castiel appreciates the honesty.

"Things are going to change," Dean says.

Castiel is alarmed. He doesn't always know when he's done something wrong, but usually it becomes obvious by Dean's reaction, or sometimes Sam's, that he has taken a misstep and needs to make amends.

Before he can make an apology, Dean shakes his head and gives him a half-smile. "Not you, Cas. Sam." 

Dean and Sam know each other so well they often communicate without talking. They often know what the other is thinking, without any direct evidence of it. Both Winchesters have provided Castiel with incredible insight with this gift, and Castiel waits for Dean to explain what he knows.

"Him sleeping here – even for those couple of hours – that was a big no-no."

Castiel nods. He remembers seeing Sam's longing when he stood at the foot of the bed, staring at the empty space, him and Dean only in Sam's peripheral vision. Trying to reason with him, trying to push him. But it had been Dean that had brought Sam in. There had been something simple and powerful in Dean's invitation that Sam could not resist. 

"He's going to punish himself for that. And it'll be a lot harder to convince him to do it next time."

That is surprising. Castiel understood Dean's invitation earlier this morning, but he hadn't thought it would become a standing one. The idea of him being able to watch over them both while they sleep is appealing.

"It's time to step up, Cas," Dean says. Cas meets Dean's eyes again. He had dropped his eyes while his mind wandered, considering the ways the three of them might share a bed. Dean nods when he has Cas's attention once again. "He's touch-starved."

Castiel has heard the expression, and if he doesn't think about it too precisely, he can understand the meaning. None of them touch very much, it's a Winchester taboo. He's not quite following Dean's logic, though.

Dean inches forward, puts his hands on Castiel's face, and kisses him. Slowly. Thoroughly. 

And then he gets out of bed and puts on his robe, gathering clothes for after his shower, talking casually, which Castiel knows is his way of dealing with his own emotional anxiety. Distancing it with action.

"He'll never do that again," Dean says. "He hasn't slept with me since he was twelve. The only reason I think he let himself is because he was so desperate he couldn't turn it down."

Dean pulls out two pairs of socks, looking between them as if debating their individual merits. "But he's embarrassed now, and will never let himself get close enough for that to happen again."

Dean pauses and turns around to meet Castiel's eyes, bringing home that what he's talking about is important; that he wants to know Castiel understands. Castiel nods solemnly.

Dean goes back to his clothes, digging through his boxers like he's looking for a particular pair. "He needs the touch, though. And he'll be able to accept it from you. That's less weird than sleeping in the same bed with me. And I've given my explicit permission – he will hate himself for it, but it's better than the alternative."

Castiel understands. The Winchesters take the concept of the lesser of two evils seriously.

"So you have to be the one to find him," Dean says. Castiel can hear how hard that is for Dean, the forced casual tone of his voice. 

"And you have to push. Don't force him – but be there, stay there, until he breaks through whatever he's dealing with and takes you up on your offer. You got it?"

Castiel nods. The hardest part of that is keeping Sam in the same place long enough to wear him down. Sam runs, and will find a way to avoid Castiel if he can.

He knows it's not the end of the world if he doesn't get Sam to agree, but every time he offers and fails, it makes it that much harder to get over the hurdle the next time. He sighs. "I will do everything I can, Dean."

Dean scoops up his pile of clothes, his back to Castiel as he heads for the door. "I know you will."

~~~

Castiel leaves the bunker a couple of hours behind Sam. Dean has fixed up Castiel's car so it operates smoothly, and he has added the tracking app to Castiel's phone, so he can follow Sam without having to constantly check in.

Sam stops traveling in the late evening, having headed northwest once he stopped switching cars and doubling back. Rock River, Wyoming. 

Castiel speeds up, covering the last hundred miles as quickly as he can.

He finds Sam in the first hotel on the outskirts of town. There is only one car in the lot, an innocuous Toyota, plain and unremarkable. 

Likewise, there is only one room with a light on, so he goes to the room and knocks. He can hear some shuffling on the inside, can feel Sam on the other side of the door, the thinnest layer of plywood between them. What if Sam won't let him in? 

His fear is put to rest as Sam opens the door, standing in front of it forbiddingly. A quick glance around the room shows Sam's duffel bag, untouched, on the bed, and a three-quarters full bottle of whiskey on the table. 

"Dean put another tracker on me," Sam says, shaking his head. "I knew I should've looked more carefully."

"He's just concerned."

Sam raises an eyebrow. "Yeah, that's why he sent you to come after me."

"It is."

"Mm hm." Sam waves his hand and turns away from the door. Castiel considers it an invitation, which he thinks is likely Sam's intent. "And what did he tell you to say?"

Castiel shrugs. "He thinks you are lonely. Touch-starved."

"Uh huh," Sam says, somehow making it sound like a question. "And?"

"Sam," Castiel says, sighing as Sam picks up the bottle of whiskey and takes two deep swallows. "I would have come either way. I'm not here to deliver a message from Dean. I am here because I'm concerned about you, I don't want you to hurt yourself." 

Sam snorts. "I would like one night to not think about this. Do we have to do this? Can we not?"

"Will you allow me to watch over you?"

Sam shrugs a shoulder up. "You could just join me, Cas. Let's just get drunk and watch bad movies." He points at the TV. Castiel doesn't know the movie that's playing, but there is an outdated feel to it.

Sam is quarter of a bottle past reasonable discussion. Castiel nods his head. "Great," Sam says, grabbing the bottle and settling in on the couch. He spreads outward, his knees wide and the bottle resting against one thigh. Castiel perches on the other end of the couch, nominally watching the movie, but keeping an eye on Sam in his peripheral vision. 

The movie engrosses Sam, who laughs at everything. The clothes, the stilted dialogue, the plot. Castiel thinks it is intended to be a drama, but apparently it is an amusing one.

The movie ends, credits rolling quickly down the screen while the announcer talks about the movie that's on next, some Spanish film that Sam will probably enjoy. He shifts on the couch, spreads out even further, which Castiel would not have guessed possible, and drinks more whiskey, setting the half-full bottle on the floor.

When the opening scenes for the next movie start, Castiel realizes his mistake. It's not a foreign art film, it is pornography, and a series with particularly unrealistic scenarios and poor production quality. He rolls his eyes.

Sam sighs out a breath and Castiel holds very still. He isn't sure if Sam is too lazy or drunk to change the channel, or if he is trying to make Castiel too uncomfortable to stay, or if this might be an invitation. 

It's not one he can accept, as Sam is too drunk to be able to truly understand what he is asking, but if that is even a small part of Sam's motivation, it will help Castiel tomorrow.

Castiel watches in silence for more than half an hour, waiting to see what Sam might do, wondering if he is expecting Castiel to say or do something. Then Sam's head lolls back and Castiel realizes he has fallen asleep. 

He debates letting Sam sleep on the uncomfortable couch, but that just seems cruel. He moves the bottle of whiskey so he can move in next to Sam, try to arrange his arms and legs so Castiel can pick him up and carry him to the bed. 

Sam's weight is not a problem, nor his height, but rather the length of his arms and legs, and the looseness the whiskey has wrought. He eventually gathers Sam up and carries him the short way to the bed, removing his shoes, and looking down at Sam fondly while he decides whether or not he should remove more clothing or try to get Sam under the covers.

Sam flops awkwardly onto his back and looks up at Castiel, confusion written on his face. 

"Go to sleep."

Sam nods, his eyes blinking closed immediately. "Stay?"

"Of course, Sam. Now rest."

~~~


	38. Summer Solstice

~~~

If there's one good thing about having a hangover, it's that the sour taste in Sam's mouth keeps him from thinking about Cas. Cas who is sitting on the couch, watching Sam sleep. He can feel it, even though he's flopped on his front and can't see him. He can feel Cas's gaze. It's like a fifty-pound weight between his shoulderblades.

He didn't do anything stupid last night. He was drunk, but he remembers it all. He remembers Cas carrying him to bed. He's spent the half hour he's been awake trying to forget it. 

It felt _safe_. It felt like when he was still small, when he purposely fell asleep anywhere except bed so Dean would carry him there. Never dad – not after Dean was big enough to do it – and there was nothing that made Sam feel safe in the same way. Until Cas. And that just… is the worst. He has spent months burying every feeling he has about Cas, everything except OFF LIMITS because he's broken. He's all sharp edges, so he ends up breaking everything else he touches, too, and if there is anything in the world he needs to not break, it's Dean and Cas. 

Cas is waiting patiently. Cas is always waiting patiently; it annoys Sam how Cas can just wait endlessly. Well, sometimes. He's glad that Cas waited for Dean like that – he'd honestly thought maybe they'd missed their chance. But no, Cas was just waiting. 

"What?" Sam asks. He doesn't even have as much patience as Dean, gets frustrated waiting for the smallest thing, gets annoyed with the stubborn back and forths they get into. Waiting for Cas to say something is killing him.

"Nothing," Cas says, and Sam rolls his eyes and pulls a pillow over his head.

~~~

The second time Sam wakes up, Cas's presence feels different. Less intently concerned and more curious. He would wonder why there is a difference in the way Cas watches him, but… it's _Cas_.

He really doesn't want to do this. He doesn't understand why Cas insists on making this harder for him. Dean too, for that matter, but he knows all Dean's quirks by now. He's used to them, he adjusts to take them into account. Cas is always scary as hell because he's completely unpredictable. He ambushes Sam. And he's so different from humans that Sam can't always parse what he should be doing because Cas's expectations don't match anyone he's ever known. He doesn't know what to do with Cas, can't figure out what he wants.

"You know I wasn't planning on leaving forever, right?"

"Of course."

"Then why are you here? Don't you think maybe I left because I need some time to myself?"

He's having the conversation with his pillow. If Cas asks, he'll say it's because he's hungover and doesn't want to move much. It's as good a lie as any.

"I suppose," Cas says. "I don't mean to intrude, but I was concerned that perhaps you might want assistance in working through your experiences."

Great, so now Cas is playing shrink. That's the absolute last thing Sam wants or needs. "I'm really good at working through stuff, Cas. I have to be."

"You don't need to do it alone, Sam. I am here to help. Dean would help, too, if you asked."

That's a good one, the Winchesters asking for help. He can name on one hand the times Dean's asked for help. He'd be willing to bet that Dean could do the same for him.

"I assume you ran because you are afraid. What are you afraid of?"

God, Sam cannot express how much he doesn't want to discuss this right now. Or ever. But definitely not right now, when there is the distinct possibility that he might throw up on himself. "Can I take a rain check on this conversation? I don't feel well, and I don't think a round of psychoanalysis is going to make me feel any better."

It's not that Sam doesn't hear Cas moving, it's just that Cas has been so long without juice, he's forgotten how he used to heal them all the time, so he's not prepared for it. The two fingers on his forehead is a familiar and uncomfortable sensation, but the nausea and sourness in his mouth go away.

Sam sighs and sits up, finally meeting Cas's eyes. He'd been planning to think this through on his own, spend time locking down his feelings, making a plan to avoid temptation until he forgets the warm feeling of Dean at his back. It takes a lot of work for him to crawl through his brain and deal with the seriously fucked up parts of himself. And he does it alone because Dean has no idea what's all in there, and he intends for Dean to never find out. 

He doesn't really care about Cas – Cas isn't judgmental that way, and he probably wouldn't understand how fucked up Sam really is – but that doesn't mean he wants to do his thing with Cas here poking at him. And he doesn't want to have a conversation about it until he's had time to figure it out for himself, analyze his motivations and develop back-up plans for himself.

"I need some time," Sam says. Maybe if he's honest with Cas, Cas'll leave him alone to sort it out.

Cas frowns. "You do not have to do this alone, Sam. You don't have to do anything alone. That is why I am here."

Sam sighs. "Cas, it's just my process. I've done this a lot. I don't need anyone else. I'm just going to sit here and think, anyway. Maybe go for a walk, try and clear my head."

Sam's gone for twenty mile hikes when he's thinking – he just gets so wrapped up he doesn't realize how far he's gone. Cell phones and GPS are the best thing that ever happened to him. The worst, too, as Cas being here demonstrates all too well.

Cas stares at him for a moment, and then tilts his head. He used to do that all the time – it was kind of weirdly endearing. Since he became human for a little while, he's done it less often. "Am I right in thinking the 'work' you're going to do is to find a way to continue to separate yourself from Dean and myself?"

"No," Sam answers. It's a kneejerk answer, but everything is going to be until he has time to think through why he did what he did and how to fix it. Or at least fix himself so he doesn't do it again.

"No?" Cas asks. "You're not trying to figure out why you joined Dean in bed, so you don't do it again?"

Sam can feel himself flush, the heat of it prickling his skin. That's exactly what he's doing. "No," he says again, hating the lack of confidence in his voice.

"Why don't you figure out why Dean invited you, instead?"

Sam is stunned. He is so used to only thinking about his own decisions and actions, he hadn't even thought about why Dean would have done such a thing. Mostly he figures Dean was half-asleep and not really thinking. "I'm sure it wasn't on purpose," Sam says hesitantly. That doesn't feel like the truth, and that is somehow scarier than all of his own feelings about sleeping in their bed.

"I can tell you with certainty that it was. And that it's a standing invitation."

Sam shakes his head. No, he absolutely cannot… he's not here to deal with _Dean_ 's fucked up shit. He has to deal with his own. "No," Sam says. "No, it's not."

Cas moves around the bed, coming to sit on the end of it – putting himself between Sam and the door, of course. "You're trembling, Sam. What is it you're afraid of?"

This is not the way it's supposed to go. Sam doesn't think about what _happened_ , only how to not do it again so he doesn't fuck things up. "Nothing," he lies. He doesn't like to lie, but Cas has him off guard and he can't let Cas derail everything or he will never forgive himself.

"Is it that you think you will somehow come between Dean and myself?"

_Yes._

Sam has always kept Dean from the things he's wanted, he's always been a burden, and he knows Dean is devoted to him first. He knows Dean offered Cas because Sam comes before his own needs, and apparently Cas's too, every time. Sam has to protect Dean from himself, sometimes, has to be an adult, not let Dean give up everything because Sam can't take care of himself.

He swallows. He can't answer Cas; there are lies he can tell, and some he can tell convincingly, but if he opens his mouth, he's not sure the truth won't fall out accidentally, and he can't let Cas get the upper hand.

"Do you love Dean?"

It's a completely incomprehensible question. It's not a question that makes sense in _words_ ; the way he loves Dean is too big for that, too full of all the the things in the universe. Love is simply not enough for how he feels about Dean.

"I can't believe you have to ask that."

Cas's mouth twitches. Sam thinks it might have been a smile. "I don't. And you don't need to answer it. But why wouldn't you? It seems obvious. Is there something difficult about saying the words?"

Sam shrugs. Dean doesn't need or want those words. Sam doesn't really have them, anyway, so it seems silly to try and say them.

"Do you understand that I love Dean as deeply as you do?"

"Of course." Finally, a question that isn't loaded. That one is easy. It's easy to see, and it's Cas's devotion that makes Sam want to be sure he doesn't fuck things up for Dean and Cas.

Cas nods, like he is satisfied with that answer. "Then you understand that there is nothing that could tear that devotion from me. Nothing you do, Sam, could change how I love Dean."

Sam takes a minute with that. It makes sense, honestly, Cas is infinitely patient. He waited for Dean all this time, he has no expectations of Dean, nothing seems to change how devoted he is, not even the other angels' machinations or his own failures. His love is constant.

Sam breathes out. Is Cas saying that Sam _can't_ break Dean and Cas? 

Except Dean is a part of Dean-and-Cas. It's not Cas's love, angelic love, love beyond human understanding, that is capable of being altered. Dean has a blind spot where Sam is concerned, though, and he would do anything for Sam, up to and including throwing away Cas. 

"I don't doubt you, Cas. But I've seen what lengths Dean has gone to for me. I'm a wrench in the works, and all I can do is try to keep myself out of the way so Dean doesn't do something stupid."

Cas nods. "So… you think that if I love you, somehow I will love Dean less? That I must choose? And that Dean would force me to choose you over him, because he is devoted to you?"

Sam knows what Cas is doing. He is gently pulling apart Sam's deeply-held suppositions, the things he takes for granted about himself, about Dean, about how they work. And he understands that some of this isn't rational, but there is a lot of history between them and there are some things about Dean that Sam knows down to his bones and doesn't _have_ to think about. And one of those things is that if Dean thinks he can do something for Sam, he will – up to and including sacrificing himself and others – the entire human race, even. And Sam already has a heavy enough burden because of that – he cannot, absolutely _cannot_ handle Dean sacrificing this.

"I think Dean would throw you at me and hold himself back, sacrifice everything you have so I could be happy."

Cas frowns, lines deeply etched into his forehead. "Sam." 

The way Cas says his name makes him ache. There's so much in it, more than Sam can handle right now. He gets off the bed, looking around for his shoes. He needs to get out, get some air.

"Sam, no sacrifice is required." Cas stands, puts himself in front of the door. "I can love you and Dean. Dean can love you and me."

Sam understands that theoretically, but it's not his experience.

"Get out of the way, Cas."

"Sam," Cas says again. Cas has a way with names; there are things he can put into them that hold entire stories. What Sam understands from this is that Cas is not going to allow him to leave, until he has… done _something_ to Cas's satisfaction – which he knows he never will because it's dangerous. 

"What do you think will happen, Sam? If you don't limit yourself? If you trust that Dean and I can love each other and you without diminishing what we have in some way?"

Fear is crawling its way up Sam's throat; he feels like he's in a room full of knives, and once false move and he will be cut to ribbons. "Move, Cas." 

Cas stands his ground. Sam grabs his shoulders, intending to set him aside, but Cas is immovable, more _solid_ than anything Sam has felt in his entire life. Suddenly Sam feels trapped; he hadn't really been concerned that Cas would hurt him, or force him to… 

Force him to…

His mind blanks. He has no idea what Cas wants, what end goal he's trying to achieve. Whatever it is, though, Sam knows it can't be good, because it involves him in some way, and he's had enough of hurting people he cares about.

He's still got his hands on Cas's arms, not trying to move him any more, but not letting go, either. There's a sense of safety, an echo of last night. Cas is immutable. Sam cannot truly harm him, not without intent and a whole lot of spellwork, or at least an angel blade.

"Cas, please," Sam begs, though he doesn't know what he's asking for.

Cas brings his hands up, circles Sam's forearms with his grip, more solidity, more support. "Please, what?"

 _Don't_ , Sam's mind screams at him. _Stop touching him._

Sam has learned a few tricks in dealing with Cas. Mostly he's found a way to short-circuit his brain so he can't see Cas's trueform all the time. It'd hurt him, before, to see all that beauty all the time, to see the ways in which Cas was infinite, how unworthy Sam was of even being on the periphery of such a being. It comes back in a rush when Sam thinks on it, Cas's entire being, his wings, which are curled around Sam, cradling him.

"I can't," Sam says. "Please, Cas, I can't."

"All right," Cas says, withdrawing his wings and doing something to make his body a normal density again. He sways to the right and Sam catches him, keeps him from stumbling sideways. "I can wait, Sam. I want you to have what you need, whatever that is, including your denial of my love, of the way I love your brother."

"No, Cas," Sam says, gripping his shoulders more tightly. "It's not you – I don't doubt you. It's me. I ruin everything eventually, I couldn't bear it if I ruined you and Dean, too."

Cas smiles sadly. "I am already ruined, Sam. I was when I loved you and your brother above the rest of humanity."

Sam's mind stutters to a halt. He hears echoes of himself in Cas's words; it kills him that Cas might be similar to him like this. He squeezes Cas's shoulders – Cas's sudden vulnerability brings out Sam's protective instinct, and he brings Cas in, folding Cas in his arms, hugging him. "You're perfect, Cas. You're better than all the rest of those angels – you know what humanity is really about, and you love us anyway." 

Cas's arms slide around his back as he accepts the hug. Sam holds him like that a long time; he hasn't hugged anyone for a while and it feels surprisingly good. 

Cas's wings surround him again, and he can feel his resistance break free. He needs this. He needs Cas. And if he can't break Cas, or the way Cas loves Dean, then all he has to do is make sure he doesn't break Dean, and he's been doing that for the last several years already. He can do that. 

"Okay," Sam says, pulling back so he can look down at Cas in his arms. "Okay, Cas, I…"

He doesn't know what he wants, or what it means. He's not any more attracted to Cas's physical body than before; he doesn't think of this as a romance. All he wants is Cas's attention. 

Cas must get the idea, because his entire being lights up – his face breaks out into a genuine smile, but his angelic body has something electrical arcing through it – grace, maybe – and his wings close even more tightly around Sam. "Yes, Sam, yes, _thank you_."

Sam snorts. Only Cas would thank him for accepting a hug. "I don't really know what this is," Sam says. 

Cas doesn't stop smiling. "It doesn't matter, Sam. It is what we make it."

~~~


	39. Daylight Appreciation Day

~~~

Cas's text is confusing. It's plain as day, actually – _I'm coming home, Sam's coming with me_ – but Dean's confused about how he feels about that.

The first, biggest feeling is relief. Sam's coming home, and after only one night away. That means Cas did it, somehow, talked Sam into… something. And that brings up a totally different set of feelings. There's the first spike of jealousy, he thinks it's mostly about Cas, but there's probably some about Sam, too. Immediately afterward, there's a pervy sort of "wonder what they did" and a few possible scenes flicker through his mind. Probably just kissing, if he knows Sam at all, and he likes to think he does.

He hasn't seen Sam kiss somebody in a while, though – as far as he knows, it's been a while – so he can't picture that too well. 

Then the darker thoughts crowd in. This means things will be different. He doesn't know how yet – there's no way to know that until it happens – but it's not usually a good thing. He'll have less of Cas, and less of Sam. He's happy for them – Sam deserves to be happy and if Cas is what makes him happy (and he can't see how it won't – Cas makes Dean happy, and that's a confusing thing in itself – he's never _been_ happy, so he kind of feels like he's high _all the time_ ), well. How could Dean possibly begrudge them that?

The idea of Sam being happy makes him ache. Sam was a happy kid, always had an easy smile, even when he was at Stanford. It wasn't until that first apocalypse that all the joy had been beaten out of him. Dean hasn't had a lot of happiness in his life either; he's made do with almost and at least and kind of. 

The idea that all of them might be… what? Content? He thinks that might apply. He doesn't know what to do with it, though, doesn't understand what that kind of life might look like, how they might fit.

He's willing to give it a chance, though.

~~~

Sam's laughing when they get in, genuinely amused at something, Dean's so glad to see it, he almost walks up to Sam and gives him a hug. That wouldn't go over too well, though, so Dean keeps it to himself and asks about the bags of stuff they're carrying instead.

"Movies," Cas says, lifting his bag. 

"And snacks," Sam says, lifting his bag in one hand and a twelve-pack in the other. 

The movies are Deadpool and Zootopia, which Dean will never, ever, _ever_ admit he wanted to see. Of course, he doesn't have to admit it, because Sam knows him better than he knows himself.

He huffs and puffs and puts on a show, but Sam just rolls his eyes and puts Deadpool in first, letting it run while he makes popcorn for Cas. 

It's a good movie – funny as hell, irreverent and sexy. They laugh, snark along with the character, and drink their beer, laughing raucously the whole time.

Dean is between Cas and the arm of the couch, and Sam is on Cas's other side. It's a little close quarters for them – usually someone takes the wingback when all three of them watch movies – but pleasantly so. There's no awkwardness, just the three of them being a little close on the couch.

Sam gets up to change the blu-ray, and when he comes back, he plops down onto the floor, sitting cross-legged and resting his back against Cas's legs. Dean's breath catches. Sam used to do that to him when he was small, when they binge-watched TV while dad was on a hunt. He'd forgotten about that, how Sam would lean back, a comfortable weight against Dean's legs.

Sam's a lot bigger now, so he's half resting on one of Dean's legs, too, and Dean would rather admit that he's avidly watching a kid's movie than admit how much he loves that simple, probably accidental, touch.

Cas slides sideways, leaning his shoulder into Dean's side, and threads their fingers together, his still slightly greasy from the butter on the popcorn. Dean doesn't complain.

The movie's pretty good. Cute, anyway, though Dean can only spare maybe half his attention. He's watching Sam's head loll as he starts to fall asleep, and then when he leans it back on Cas's knee, watching the movie through slitted eyes.

Cas puts his free hand in Sam's hair, pulling it away from his face gently. Sam hums in quiet contentment. Dean just gives up on the movie altogether at that point, lost in the feel of his family, together and content.

~~~


	40. National PTSD Awareness Day

~~~

Sam's acquiescence changes things less than Castiel expects. Rather, it shifts them – the tension now strangely between Sam and Dean, and not having to do with Castiel. At least he doesn't believe it so.

Sam likes to have Castiel's hands in his hair and on his face. Castiel gets the impression that he'd like to have Dean touch him that way as well, but that he would never so much as make an intimation of that, even though Castiel can see Dean's hands twitching whenever Castiel brushes Sam's hair back from his face.

He knows Dean has the same instinct – gives in to it when Sam is hurt or Dean needs assurance of Sam's well-being. It is simple to touch Sam, and natural to touch his face or his hair. Soothing.

Sam also likes to curl up near Castiel. He will curl up on the end of the couch while Castiel reads, or on the bed while Castiel watches TV. 

Castiel has finally been invited into Sam's bed, though it wasn't sexual at all. Sam had simply scooted over while they were watching TV together and left space enough for Castiel on the bed. It's a subtle invitation and one he might have hesitated at, if he didn't believe he understood what Sam wants from their relationship now. 

Sam is very careful never to fall asleep, however, and sends Castiel away at the end of the night, even if Dean is not home and won't be for several days.

That consternates Dean something fierce, especially the first time he takes three days to go check in with contacts of theirs in Seattle. When he gets back in the early morning and Castiel is wandering around the bunker, looking for another book to read, Dean throws his hands up overdramatically.

"What the hell, Cas? I thought you'd be curled up in Sam's bed."

Castiel shrugs. "He emphatically insists I not stay."

"Then watching."

"He insists I not stay in the room. At all. Anywhere." Before Dean can complain further, Castiel adds, "Including the doorway."

Dean hmphs with displeasure, but takes Castiel's hand and leads him to his room. "His loss, my gain."

~~~

After the sex, Dean lies back on the bed, his arm under his head, looking at the ceiling and talking. The talking is only partially for Castiel, he thinks. It's the way Dean works through things that are bothering him. Castiel occasionally comments, if there seems to be something Dean is missing in his evaluation and he's in a mood to take suggestions, which is rare, but he listens. It's pleasing to know the river of Dean's thoughts. It's usually forthright, though it runs deep and leaves much unexamined in its depths.

"I really thought you and Sam would be… you know."

"Having sex?"

Dean sighs. Castiel can nearly hear the eyeroll. He rolls onto his side and rests his head on Dean's chest. 

"Fine, yeah. I thought he would've wanted that. Like, way sooner."

Castiel says nothing. He doesn't believe it is out of the realm of possibility, but there is no middle ground with Sam. Either it will be considered to nth degree with every possible trajectory, complication, and end result and Sam will weight the risks and find it worthwhile, or it will be an explosion, a decision made in the moment because sometimes Sam is volatile and his temper is swift and his decisions not entirely under the control of his rational mind. 

Castiel believes the second will not happen if the first hasn't at least been considered; there would be no way Sam would make a spur-of-the-moment choice if he hadn't at least once drawn the possible consequences in his mind and found them to be a reasonable risk. But he can also get lost in the first, drawing up ever more elaborate and unlikely scenarios until he has all but convinced himself that in no circumstances might it be worth the end result. 

Sam's judgment can be flawed in this way. Castiel knows this. But it is a delicate balance and one that Dean is insensitive to. He doesn't understand Sam's wild swings from perfectly rational to completely unreasonable, where that thought process lies, how long it takes, what circumstances will cause it. Castiel has been paying particular attention for several years, now, and he thinks he has finally come to understand the rhythm of Sam Winchester's thoughts.

"Is it weird?"

Castiel leans up, needing to see Dean's face to get clarification on the question. "Is what weird?"

"Is it weird that I'm jealous of you? Just, being able to touch him?"

Castiel slips back down onto the bed, placing a kiss on Dean's neck. "No."

Dean hmms and continues to stare at the ceiling.

~~~

The next time they curl up on the couch for a movie, Castiel flows sideways, into Sam's space. He rests his shoulder against Dean but throws his hip to the side to contact Sam's.

Sometimes Sam will simply sit on the couch with them, wearing a knowing smile when he glances at Dean and Castiel cozied up together or holding hands. He is genuinely happy for them, which is one of the most easy, beautifully simple things about him.

Sometimes he will sit on the floor, though, put his hair within reach, rest his skull on Castiel's knee – a strange but obvious show of trust. If Castiel spreads out too much, causing Sam discomfort, he will shift to the floor earlier.

It works, Sam slides down early in the movie, sitting at Castiel's feet with his legs crossed. It takes another half an hour for him to un-pretzel himself and lean back against Castiel, and when he does, Castiel strokes his hair. 

The change in Sam's posture is immediate. He melts back against Castiel, his entire back resting heavy on Castiel's legs, and Castiel nudges him ever-so-slightly toward Dean, putting his opposite leg out as if he needs to stretch. 

Sam goes, ever willing to oblige, and when he leans his head back, silently asking for Castiel to pet his hair, Castiel takes Dean's hand and places it on Sam's cheek. They are both breathing hard, no one paying attention to the movie anymore, but Sam eventually leans into it, trapping Dean's fingers between his cheek and his shoulder. Dean breathes out loudly and Castiel runs his fingers through Sam's hair.

~~~


	41. U.S. Independence Day

~~~

One of Sam's fondest memories is the fourth of July that Dean stole a huge box of fireworks and they set them all off in a field. The ones he liked best though, were the sparklers. Dean'd laughed and said they were for babies, but Sam never cared. He liked holding the spitting, sparking thing in his hand, the little thrill whenever one of the sparks landed on his skin and shocked him. He'd light them like a chain smoker, each one from the last, and absolutely spend the whole time trying to write in the air with them, playing tricks on his eyes, writing words that only he could read.

Dean rolls his eyes when Sam brings two huge multi-box sparkler sets up to the counter at the fireworks store, but he shells out the cash for them without complaint. Cas is just looking around at everything, asking questions that Sam knows damn well won't mean a thing until he sees some of them lit up.

Dean's gotten some bottle rockets somehow – Sam's sure they're illegal now – as well as every other variety in the place, from the stupid ash snakes and snap pops to the big fountain-type fireworks. 

They haven't done this in years. There hasn't been much to celebrate, honestly, and the few years they weren't going crazy trying to find each other, neither one felt much like doing anything for holidays. Cas has changed all that. Sam's immensely grateful for the change; there's a side of Dean, the fun, childlike side, that the thought he might never see again, not after the demon. 

Cas makes things easier for Sam, too, though he's not completely sure Cas is doing it on purpose. Cas has his own agenda and can make things the opposite of easy, but there are certain things that Cas has simply made normal by his implacable inability (on unwillingness) to change.

Sam's planning Thanksgiving. He's probably going to lead up to it with a couple of smaller get-togethers, start testing out some of the things he's always wanted to do with food. It's easier when there are guests; he's happy to cook for Dean and Cas, but if Jody or Aaron or Garth comes, that makes it just a little more of a challenge. 

He's been trying to convince Dean to reconsider the bunker security for a while, and before he makes the first menu and they decide on the first dinner guests, he's going to research some of Magnus's spells and cook up a way to look the bunker to anyone except him, Dean, Cas, and the people they choose. He'll have to get that out of the way before he sends any invitations, and he's got a guest list a mile long, so he's really got to get moving on that.

In the meantime, he makes them a picnic basket. It's nothing fancy – potato salad and sandwich fixings, kitchen pickles because they're the only vegetables Dean's currently eating, turtle brownies for Cas's sweet tooth – and all in a cooler packed with 12 ounce cans of beer at the bottom. The beer keeps the rest of the food dry above the ice, a trick Sam learned when he was eleven. 

They're packed up and ready to go by eight, everything loaded into the car and Dean grinning like a little kid. He's always had that smile, even when things were bad – the worst. How he keeps that part of himself alive and well, Sam would truly love to know. He's amused and content and even happy, sometimes, but it never feels like he'll have that easy enjoyment of the simple things that he had in his youth. Even when things are good, there's too much for him to just shake it off, let it all go. Maybe Dean's better at compartmentalizing than he is. Maybe Dean's better at letting things go than he is.

Whatever it is, it's Dean's stupid grin that makes Sam smile, and when he turns the radio up and starts singing along, Sam gives in and joins him. Cas sits in the back seat and watches them with fond eyes, like he always does when they're doing easy, brotherly things they've done their whole lives. 

They get to Dean's "perfect place" just at sunset and set the blankets out to eat dinner and watch the darkness creep in. Dean eats the entire jar of pickles and spills the vinegar on himself, prompting a fake fight about whether or not he's a sloppy drunk (he is). Cas doesn't weigh in, which is probably because he's not sure about the definition of sloppy drunk. Truth be told, Sam probably couldn't put it into words, he just knows Dean has two drunks – not-really-drunk and sloppy drunk. Not-really-drunk is good for all the time, including getting into and out of sticky situations, fighting, fucking, and everything in between. Sloppy drunk is for when things are bad, _real_ bad, and Dean doesn't give a fuck any more. 

He hasn't done that in a long time, something Sam sends up a silent prayer for. Another thing Cas's been useful for – and not just because he healed up their livers nice and new. He takes the desperate edge off of Dean, and as Sam sits on Baby's hood and watches them curled up on the blanket, he's thankful for the myriad of ways that Cas has helped them. He likes to think they've helped him, too, but it's hard to believe the Winchesters have anything to give an angel, besides saving his ass when he fucks up, just like they do.

"C'mon down here, Sammy," Dean calls when it's finally dark enough for the fireworks to be at their fullest effect, and Sam's about to protest when several different commercial fireworks go off, all within a 110° angle they can see from where Dean's carefully orchestrated their blanket. Four different little cities lighting off their fireworks, and Sam's pleased with Dean's planning. 

He slides off Baby's hood and sits next to Cas, arms around his legs while he watches the fireworks go off. Eventually he gives in and lies down, on his back with his arms under his head. He doesn't realize for a couple of minutes that he should've curled up with his back to Cas, so Cas could put his hands in Sam's hair.

He's not sure why that is what their relationship has turned into, but he likes it, and the one part of this he's come to terms with is that having Cas's hands in his hair soothes him, and he's not going to deny himself that one thing. 

It's not really one thing. Dean is mixed up in it too, though Sam doesn't allow himself to overthink that. He'd make himself crazy trying to figure out Dean's brain, and he's crazy enough trying to figure out his own. He just accepts these small things as a type of communication. One the Winchesters are bad at (like all others except the silent mind-reading type), but one they both seem willing to work on, which is something new and just a bit scary, if Sam dwells on it. He tries not to dwell on it.

There's not enough time for that tonight anyway, because the fireworks die out after a few minutes, and then it's time to light their own. Sam saves his sparklers for last, because they're his favorite, and he doesn't want to be distracted while Dean is lighting off the cool ones.

Cas has a million questions, insisting on Dean reading off the name and type of firework before he sets it off. He's probably making notes. He's probably starting a compendium of fireworks, one that he'll carefully scribe some night while they both sleep.

The fireworks are great, big and beautiful, and they make Dean whoop with joy and Sam laugh with sympathetic happiness. Seeing Dean like this heals something in him he didn't even know was wounded. A lot of their relationship is like that, and Sam smiles to think that maybe they're starting to fix things, repair the damage they've done to each other over the years.

When they're all done, even the ash snakes (that Dean has to light up with a flashlight so Cas can examine them) and snap pops, Sam unwraps the sparklers. He opens a box and lights the first one with his lighter, the simple spark of the thing making him grin.

He lights a second one and hands it to Cas, demonstrating how to make the light trails by writing the Enochian word for angel.

Cas one-ups him by writing the Enochian word for love, and then the symbol that Sam has memorized, the one Cas branded them with half a year ago. It's changed, though, like Cas told them it would, but before Sam can ask him for the full translation, Cas is shaking the sparkler in his hand, saying, "Ow!" and giving Sam big doe eyes full of hurt. 

Sam lights another sparkler, because Cas's is on its last legs, and hands it to him. Cas takes it with his other hand, and Sam takes the spent sparkler from his right. "Here," he says, curling his hands around Cas's fist. "A kiss to make it better."

Cas tilts his head, but watches Sam's every move as he brings Cas's fist up to his lips for a kiss. "There," he says, releasing Cas's hand. "Doesn't that feel better?"

Cas frowns for a moment. "Yes." He looks up at Sam. "Is that magic?"

Dean laughs, a delighted sort of laugh, and shakes a sparkler out of the box, lighting it off of Cas's half-finished sparkler. "The simplest, most powerful magic," Dean says. "Distraction."

Sam drops Cas's hand like it burns him and wonders why the hell Cas brings out these weird instincts in him. Dean doesn't seem mad; he just hands over the sparkler he's lit to Cas and lights another, nodding his head at the two empties Sam's got in his hands. 

Sam takes a breath and accepts the sparkler, immediately lighting a second one off the first. Cas follows suit, making ever more complicated Enochian words and phrases. 

"What is that one?" Dean asks, pointing to the afterimage of the long word Sam's been trying to figure out, too.

"Brothers," Cas answers, lighting another sparkler and spelling it out again. "I'm tracing my evolution of the word since I have met you. It is a much more complicated word now, and more beautiful."

Sam hadn't realized that words could change in Enochian too – he'll have to ask Cas about that, about how translation works if words evolve differently for each angel – but he leaves it alone for now, accepting Cas's statement without question because there's really nothing in it _to_ question. He likes to think he and Dean are exceptional in some ways, and the way they're family (including the not-so-good parts) is one of those ways. 

He's lost in thought, spending more time watching Cas than lighting his own sparklers, and one of them catches his skin just right, burning some of the fine hairs and making him gasp with the sharp pain.

"Here," Dean says, taking the sparker out of Sam's hand and cupping Sam's fist in his hands. Sam knows what he's going to do, and he's thrown back to his childhood, every scrape and bruise he brought to Dean's attention when he was little, how Dean patiently kissed every one, put band-aids on when they had them, even the bruises that didn't need any band-aids.

"A kiss to make it better," Dean says, something Sam never remembers Dad saying to either of them. He wonders where Dean learned it. He watches Dean kiss his hand with a detached sort of interest, almost like he's left his body, astral traveling and watching the whole scene from three feet away. 

For a second, Sam can't breathe – he knows what comes next. Dean used to –

Sam sucks in a breath as he watches Dean put his hands on Sam's shoulders, pushing down a little. Sam bows his head so Dean can kiss the top of his head, just like when he was little.

"All better?" Dean asks, and Sam nods dumbly. 

It's not all better, but it's a hell of a lot better than it used to be.

~~~


	42. Collector Car Appreciation Day

~~~

It's nothing, really, just a little car show in the parking lot of a Home Depot in the middle of nowhere. Dean looks at the cars as he goes by, nothing truly spectacular, a few that could give Baby a run, but mostly "why would you even bother?" cars and weird people.

He's about to keep heading back to the bunker, but when he looks at his watch, he's an hour ahead of time, which could spell disaster. Cas gets annoyed with him when he comes back early, and while Sam doesn't, it still means Sam's more reluctant to do his thing with Cas – which also means Dean can't slide in to join the party, which is his favorite part. 

He pulls in to the show, fully intending to just get out and wander around, when a kid runs up and hands him a flyer. "You're late, dude," he says. "We can fit you in next to Rick over there." He points to one of the cars Dean'd been eyeing, a '66 sapphire blue Mustang.

Dean shrugs, hands over the forty dollar entrance fee, and rolls Baby in to park among the other cars, fully confident he's got the best car in the joint. 

He and Rick strike up a conversation, admiration clear on both sides. Dean pops his hood and they talk shop for a couple of hours, other people wandering in and out, expressing admiration for their cars and a few for Dean himself. He hasn't flirted in a while; even before Cas he'd gotten way out of practice. Still he smiles at the women, appreciates their short shorts and tight t-shirts, but turning down their numbers when they offer. 

It's a good day, it feels good to stretch his legs a little, remember what life used to be like before he shacked up with Cas. It's a little strange, now he thinks about it, Cas shacked up with him, really, and truth be told, he and Sam settled into the bunker…

And that train of thought just stops there. He shakes himself, turning to Rick to shake hands and congratulate him on a beautiful car, and rolls out, heading home a little late for once.

~~~

When he gets in, the kitchen is a mess and Sam and Cas are nowhere to be found. He wanders down to Sam's room, to see if they're watching TV.

They are, Cas with his back against the headboard, Sam's head in his lap, curled up and obviously asleep. Cas is still running his fingers through Sam's hair, his eyes closed.

He can't tell if Cas knows he's there; Cas doesn't always react if there's no obvious reason to do so. Dean watches for a while, shifting back and forth on his feet, trying to figure out if he should just head back to the kitchen and clean up, leave Sam and Cas to it. He wants to curl up there, though, go rest his back against the headboard, lean his shoulder into Cas, let his legs rest against Sam's back, maybe put his fingers in his brother's hair, pet it when Sam isn't bleeding out in his arms.

He turns around, heading back to the kitchen.

~~~

Usually Sam cleans after he cooks, but judging by the way there are pots and pans and food _everywhere_ , he thinks it's likely they just cooked until they were exhausted and left the mess for tomorrow.

Dean starts organizing, filling up the sink with scalding hot water and throwing in anything smaller than a pot to soak for a minute while he takes a rag to the surfaces in the kitchen, wiping the peas off the table and the mustard off the fridge – how the hell they got mustard on the fridge, he has no idea, but he wipes it down, thinking about all the favors he's going to call in for this.

He spends an hour doing dishes, bringing the kitchen back to respectable before sitting down with a beer to appreciate his handiwork. He thinks about crawling into bed and decides he's really not interested, knowing Cas is likely to spend the night in Sam's room. He hates sleeping alone.

He sighs and stands, leaving his beer on the table, and heads back to Sam's room.

~~~

Dean wakes up just as Cas is picking him up from the floor. He'd stood in the doorway, watching them, and then gotten too tired to keep standing.

"Why didn't you join us?"

Dean lets Cas help him to standing before he shrugs. "Never been invited." Sam has a thing about his bed. He's had it since he was little – probably because they had to share more often than not back then. It was one thing if there were only two beds and Dad needed one, but if they were on separate beds and Dad came home from a hunt, it was always Dean that joined Sam – and he had to ask if it was okay. There were a few times back then that Sam was pissed at him and said no, but usually a little "come on, Sammy" would work, if Dean wasn't in the mood to pitch a fit and sleep on the floor. 

When he did sleep on the floor, Sam couldn't fall asleep and ended up inviting him in anyway. Then Dean turned sixteen and alternated between taking care of Sam for long stretches while Dad was away, and going with Dad to help with hunts. It wasn't intentional, but they stopped sleeping together. There was never a need.

He doesn't think there's a chance in hell that he'll ever be invited into Sam's bed again, not with things between all of them slightly twisted the way it is. Sam's got a standing invitation to his bed – their bed? It's really their bed, now. Dean doesn't like to sleep in it without Cas, so on nights like tonight, that presents a bit of a problem. 

Dean's a little unsteady on his feet; he's getting old, and his body doesn't like sleeping on floors or all bent out of shape. "Do you want me to carry you?" Cas asks, and Dean shoves him off, regretting it just a little when he limps for a few steps while all his pieces and parts get with the program.

"I carried Sam to bed," Cas says, and Dean wants to glance back into the room, but they're already out into the hallway, and Sam's out of view. "Not tonight," Cas clarifies. "When I found him in Wyoming."

Dean smiles. It's an entertaining thought, Cas carrying Sam to bed. He used to do it all the time when Sam was little. He could fall asleep _anywhere_ , and it was always Dean that gathered him up, pulling in his floppy arms and legs and getting him into bed. He has a pang for the simplicity of their life back then, the utter and complete way Sam trusted Dean and the simple and uncomplicated way Dean loved Sam. 

"Your turn," Cas says, putting a firm hand on the back of Dean's neck and guiding him to their room.

~~~


	43. Pandemonium Day

~~~

Dean wakes up suddenly, sitting straight up in bed. Something's wrong.

Cas leans up, looking half-there, like he's been meditating while Dean's sleeping. "What's wrong?"

Dean looks around, trying to figure out what woke him. "Sam having nightmares?" he asks.

Cas shakes his head. "Not that I can tell, though if he warded himself before sleep I wouldn't be –"

"No, I mean, was he yelling in his sleep or something?"

"Oh, " Cas says, sitting all the way up. "No, not that I heard."

"Well, was there something else?" Dean asks, exasperated. "Some other noise?" He gets up and grabs his robe from the back of the door. He's going to have to clear the bunker before he goes back to sleep.

"Wait," Cas says. "I think you probably heard the Impala."

"What?!" Dean screeches, yanking open the door and barreling out into the hallway.

"Dean, wait!" Cas calls after him. "It's just Sam – he is planning to visit Garth."

Dean turns around slowly in the hallway, giving Cas the "okay, tell me what this is about" look while he waits for Cas to explain.

"Come back to bed," Cas says, backing up slowly, looking adorably mussed and inviting. "It was supposed to be a surprise. Sam wanted to give us some time."

Dean frowns. "He's going to stay with that pack of werewolves?" He may have been willing to let Garth slide but that doesn't mean he's going to let Sam –

"No, they are meeting halfway. Somewhere in Iowa." Cas smiles, almost – lifts one corner of his mouth in amusement. "Sam knew you wouldn't want him staying there."

"Yeah, well…" He doesn't really have a comeback for that. 

Cas steps back forward, grabbing the belt from Dean's robe and reeling him in. "Come back to bed," he says softly, and Dean does.

~~~

Dean likes to think he's not 100% selfish. He knows he is, in some fundamental ways, but he's always considered the things he takes for himself to be small things, unimportant things. And with sex, there used to be a tit for tat. He had a good time, but so did the guys and girls he's been with. He always made sure everyone had a good time.

The problem with Cas is that he never comes.

Ever.

The first few times were disconcerting, but Cas seemed okay, so Dean left them nominally alone. Once he took Sam's advice and asked Cas about it, he felt slightly less guilty about it, but still, it weighs on him. 

Every once in a while he still tries, pulls out everything in his arsenal and the things he dared to look up online, but nothing works. Cas gets hard sometimes, which is a feat in and of itself, but it never lasts and it never leads anywhere.

Cas seems content enough; Dean can tell Cas is pleased that Dean enjoys himself. And that's totally cool – Dean _does_ enjoy himself. But he still can't help wishing he could figure out the cheat code to make Cas's body work the way a human body is supposed to. He's got time, he knows – he and Cas aren't going anywhere, and it's only been about five months. But there is a niggling voice at the back of Dean's skull that says sex with Cas may always be like this, and he doesn't like it. It doesn't stop him from enjoying sex with Cas now – and making sure Cas is still okay with it, almost every time – but it leaves a mark on him, makes him wish things could be different.

Dean also likes food. He's learning to like more of it, thanks to Sam loosening up in the kitchen, so he's surprised and thrilled when Cas pulls out a couple of thick ribeyes in butcher's paper for dinner. 

He also pulls out three bags worth of vegetables and other junk, and Dean finally understands why the kitchen was a nightmare the other night. Cas cooks like it's not a real meal if he hasn't dirtied every pot and pan in the place. 

He's bad, too. Dean'd thought the number of vegetables was excessive, but it turns out that there are just enough for three batches of whatever he's trying to make. Apparently he needs practice.

Dean helps with some of the prep, chopping and sautéing and whatever else Cas asks him to do. It's like playing sous chef for Sam, but without the determined directions Sam gives. It's hilarious.

An hour and a half later, when the steak is finally done – to perfection, Dean's happy to note - there are three vegetable dishes. Crispy beet chips, burnt carrots in a pretty tasty sauce, and mashed potatoes that are pretty damn good. All in all, it's not a terrible showing.

The kitchen looks like the zombie apocalypse happened, but Dean's not sweating it. This is a leave-it-for-tomorrow moment if he's ever seen one. Once they're stupidly full of good food, Dean takes Cas's hand and brings him to the couch, putting in Zootopia and stretching out, resting against Cas and getting comfortable enough to fall asleep halfway through.

~~~

He wakes up a while later, the movie stuck on the menu and repeating the music over and over again, and background noise coming from the kitchen. Cas is meditatively rubbing his thumb over the ball of Dean's shoulder. It's soothing, so Dean lets himself drift again, waking up a little while later with Sam's back against his knees.

They've started the movie again and Dean tries not to smile as the Shakira song comes on. It gets stuck in his head some days, and he's guessing tomorrow is going to be one of those.

Sam is almost completely on Dean's side of the couch – he's just outside Cas's reach – and Dean can suddenly feel his pulse thumping hard in his throat. He could be the one to pet Sam's hair, or just let his arm hang down and rest on Sam's chest. It feels like it should be simple. Easy. But it's terrifying. And he doesn't even understand why – he knows that Sam would never reject him, turn him away or move out of reach. 

Being scared mostly makes Dean angry, so he forces himself to bring a hand up to Sam's hair. Sam leans back, leaning his head into Dean's fingers, and suddenly Dean's finger-combing Sam's hair back from his face, letting the pads of his fingers drag on Sam's scalp as his hair falls over the back of his hand. It's mesmerizing. Sam makes a soft humming noise and rests the back of his skull on Dean's knee. 

Dean keeps it up for a few minutes, but eventually the movie captures his attention again, and his hand drops to rest comfortably on Sam's shoulder. He glances up at Cas, not surprised to see Cas staring down at him, a look of fondness on his face. He leans down just enough to kiss Dean, and Dean can't help the way his grip on Sam's shoulder tightens. 

Sam's hand comes up to cover his, though, and something about it makes Dean reckless, pushing forward into Cas's space, deepening their kiss, using Sam as support for the twist of his body.

Sam's hand doesn't move. He just keeps it firm on top of Dean's, but a moment later, when they come up for air, Sam squeezes Dean's hand and scoots away from the couch. He gives a huge fake yawn, with outstretched arms and everything, and says, "I'm beat. You guys have a good night."

Dean's torn between being pissed at himself for not just enjoying the moment with Sam and being half-turned on because Cas has always enjoyed kissing and he never holds back.

He takes a deep breath and lets it out. This is just the beginning. He can feel them shifting, the way they fit together telescoping back and forth as they figure this out. He almost has the whole picture now, just another puzzle piece or two to drop into place and he'll be able to see it clearly.

He smiles and turns the TV off, taking Cas's hand and leading him to bed.

~~~


	44. Invite An Alien to Live with You Day

~~~

They'll probably never know what set Cas off. Sam can think of a couple of things off the top of his head – the nest of vampires they cleaned out last week, or that romcom Cas insisted on seeing a few days ago – but they'll just never know for sure.

"Cas," Dean huffs, trying admirably to be patient, but failing miserably. Sam likes that Dean tries for Cas.

Cas stands mulishly at the doorway, refusing to set foot inside. 

Sam puts a hand on Dean's chest as he makes a move toward Cas. It's not that Dean could physically hurt Cas, but Sam knows he's planning something stupid, like trying to drag Cas in without the invite.

"Cas," Sam says solemnly, sweeping his hand in front of him, "please consider this your home."

He turns to Dean, giving as much silent encouragement as he can, and Dean makes a face and rolls his eyes. "Fine. Cas, mi casa es su casa, okay? Now will you come in?"

"Dean," Sam says, elbowing him. "Do it right."

Cas looked like he might have been willing to consider Dean's informal invite, but he crosses his arms at Sam's words and nods his head. Sam keeps his grin to himself.

Dean is fuming, though, tense and upset in the way that he only gets around emotional trigger points. Most of the time Sam lets it slide. Cas does too – it's just not worth dealing with extra-surly Dean – but for some reason this is important to Cas, and Sam wants them to do it right.

Dean throws his hands up in defeat. "Cas, would you please make the bunker your home?"

Cas beams, finally stepping foot over the threshold.

Sam can hear Dean grumbling, something about the bunker always being Cas's home, but he doesn't care – Cas is happy, and that makes Sam happy. It'll make Dean happy too, eventually, when he stops pouting like a teenager.

Cas takes a quick step to sweep Dean into a hug, and Dean rolls his eyes, like he doesn't love it. Sam smiles and doesn’t even try to avoid it when Cas pulls him in. He puts his arms around the pair of them and rests his chin on top of Cas's head.

~~~

Apparently Cas really _hadn't_ felt at home, because there's a change to the way he moves around the bunker. Sam can't really nail it down, but there's an ease to Cas that wasn't there before. He's still his normal, awkward self, but he seems less concerned about what Sam and Dean think of it.

The way he moves in the shared spaces, the way he selects books to read or when he decides to make lunch, it's all just slightly more relaxed. Sam likes it. He's not sure Dean even notices, which is fine, too. Dean's relationship with Cas is different; the way he sees Cas when Sam isn't around is different. Sam expects that Cas felt at home in Dean's bed – Dean invited him there, after all.

Sam's invited Cas into his bed too now, though it's just for hanging out and watching TV. It's nice to have someone to curl around, he loves the way Cas fingercombs his hair. For a while, he was diligent about not falling asleep with Cas in his bed. He made sure to send Cas back to Dean when he got home, or at least shoo him out before Sam crashed for the night.

He's fallen asleep a few times recently, though, and Cas is always gone in the morning, so Sam assumes he's gotten the message that he's supposed to go back to Dean when their twosome time is over.

Tonight they're watching _Chopped_. There's a marathon on the Food Network. Sam's making faces at the basket ingredients. At least on _Top Chef_ , the ingredients are usually top notch. Cas is leaning forward, getting into the competition like he always does, one hand in Sam's hair and the other gesturing about something or other a contestant has done. 

Four or five episodes in, Sam starts to get drowsy. Cas starts to get less boisterous about his favorite contestants and Sam lets himself drift. He's nearly asleep when Dean comes to check on him, and Sam smiles at the low murmurs just outside the range of his hearing. He waits for Cas to slip out from under him, but falls asleep before it happens.

~~~

Sam wakes suddenly, disoriented and thirsty. He's sweated through his pajamas, his hair wet and hot on his neck. His head is still pillowed on Cas's thigh, and… he could've sworn Dean came home. Must've been a dream.

He throws the covers off and rolls out of bed, planning to get a glass of water when stops cold at the sight of Dean, on the floor and leaning up against the doorframe, sleeping.

"What the fuck?"

Dean starts awake, and Sam kicks his legs for good measure. "What the hell are you doing, Dean?"

Dean shrugs and sleepily closes his eyes. "Just waiting for Cas."

A glance back at the bed shows Cas hasn't moved, though he's awake. Sam stares at Cas for a while, waiting for an explanation, but when none is forthcoming, he says, "Cas, you're supposed to go to Dean's room when he comes home."

Cas shakes his head. "I spend a great deal of time in Dean's room. I rarely get to enjoy watching you sleep."

"Cas," Sam whines, because _honestly_. This is so fucked up.

"It's fine, Sammy," Dean says. 

"And _you_!" Sam says, whirling on Dean. "What's with sleeping in my doorway? You have a bed of your own!"

Dean mumbles something and Sam balls his fists, praying for the patience not to clock Dean, and Dean rolls his eyes and says, "I can't sleep alone anymore. So if Cas wants to be here, then I'll wait til he's done."

Sam sighs.

So. Fucked. Up.

He's just tired enough to realize that Dean is keeping his distance because Sam has decreed it – he hasn't invited Dean into his bed, not for something like this, and part of him can feel the danger in the idea, but the rest of him is tired, and feeling bad because Dean's been so careful with him, following every one of his rules and staying within his boundaries, even though they've never been spoken. 

"C'mon," Sam says, offering a hand up, which Dean takes and helps himself to standing. Sam doesn't let go, though, and when Dean tries to withdraw, Sam gently pulls him to the bed. "Get in there."

Dean sits heavily on the side of the bed, and Sam yanks his boots off before giving him a shove toward Cas. Dean inchworms his way across the bed, curling up where Sam'd been all night, and Sam crawls in behind him, as much distance between him and them as he can manage on the not-made-for-three-people bed. 

"Thanks," Dean whispers, and Sam smiles and kicks him in the calf.

"Go to sleep."

~~~


	45. Culinarians Day

~~~

Castiel isn't sure what is more complicated, the warding spell Sam wants to work to protect the bunker or the menu he's planned for Garth's visit.

The spell has twenty-six ingredients, and includes a secondary spell cast on anyone they consider an ally to grant access to the bunker. It also includes new warding and sigils on all the entrances. Sam is extremely meticulous and while he will ask for Castiel's help with writing the spells, he insists on being the one to perform them. Castiel doesn't know if it's his need to be in control or concern for Castiel's safety. Likely some of both.

Once the spells have been cast, preparations for the meal begin, and they are far more extensive. The shopping alone takes them to four different stores and involves ordering some ingredients online. 

Castiel's experiments with food have taught him that you should always buy more than you need, because it is common, if not likely, that you will have to make a dish more than once to make it palatable.

Sam buys enough make the entire meal three times, and then they practice the dishes for the week before Garth shows up at their door. It takes all three of them to get everything done in less than three hours, and Castiel is happy for the ability to practice a few times before doing it for their guest.

The garbage is unusually aromatic. The first round of cooking, they leave it until the next morning. That is a mistake they don't repeat the second time.

The three of them spend the whole week together, no time for any of them to take time separately, except for sleeping – and sometimes not even then. For some reason, their TV watching has moved entirely to Sam's room – and if either Dean or Sam falls asleep while watching, they stay. Castiel likes to be able to watch over both of them while they sleep. 

Sam runs hot and usually moves to the far side of the bed. If Dean wakes up enough to notice, he takes Castiel to his own bed to give Sam his space. 

If Dean falls asleep first, there is an even chance that he will curl around his brother as he will curl around Castiel. Sam smiles down at his brother, and will even rub his back, if he thinks Castiel isn't watching.

"What're you smiling about?" Sam asks, coming to look over Castiel's shoulder at the onion Castiel is dicing. 

Castiel shrugs. "I'm happy."

Sam scoops up the onions in his hands, depositing them into the sauté pan that Dean takes over. "Good," Sam says. "Now peel the tomatoes."

~~~

Garth shows up early and Sam has to run out to meet him outside the bunker so he can cast the entrance spell. It seems to go swimmingly, since they hear Sam and Garth come in a few moments later.

Sam gives him a quick tour while Castiel and Dean work double-time to get their cooking schedule back on track. Garth comes in while Castiel is blending the sauce to go with the lamb, he and Sam laughing about some shared amusement. "Hey Garth," Dean says, and Garth turns to give him a bright smile.

Then he hugs Dean, which Castiel boggles at, until the hunter approaches him with arms out, as if intending to hug Castiel as well. "Nice to finally meet you, Castiel."

Castiel must look alarmed because Sam and Dean both give him encouraging nods and gestures. He allows Garth to hug him and returns it, briefly. Garth seems pleased by that and grins when he releases Castiel.

Garth grabs a beer while they put the finishing touches on everything. "Smells great," he says. They've included several raw or rare meat dishes for Garth's werewolf palate. It's one of the myriad ways Sam is thoughtful about his friends. He has similar accommodations on many of his upcoming menus for diets or allergies. 

The conversation is pleasant and amusing, flowing easily back and forth from stories about Kevin to Garth's werewolf family to what's on the hunting radar currently. Castiel is looking forward to meeting more of Sam and Dean's acquaintances, if this is the kind of experience he can look forward to.

In the end, they only end up throwing away one of the dishes – thinly shaved sweet potatoes they were going to wrap into little tubes to pipe a goat cheese mixture into. Dean forgot to set the third timer and they ended up too burnt to curl. 

By the time the dessert is on the table, Garth looks slightly seasick. "Thanks but no thanks," he says, patting his stomach. "I don't eat that much non-meat these days, and sweets are not really my thing."

"I'll take his," Dean says, digging into the rich chocolate mousse with one hand and snagging the ramekin in front of Garth with his other.

~~~

Sam offers Garth a bed for the night, since dinner starts late and takes three hours to eat, around all the conversation. Castiel can sense the conflict in Dean, his warring instincts about having a monster in their home, despite him being a friend.

"These have good solid locks, right?" Garth asks. "I don't change in my sleep much anymore, but I'm always cautious when I sleep somewhere new."

Dean blows out a relieved breath as Sam explains they can lock Garth in until morning. "Why don't you two head to bed," Sam offers. "I can get Garth settled in."

~~~

The next morning, Castiel slips out of Dean's bed early, planning to make muffins before everyone wakes. He starts when he gets to the kitchen and Garth is at the table, reading yesterday's paper with a cup of coffee.

"Good morning," Castiel greets him, leaning in to smell the coffee in the pot. He enjoys the smell, but the taste is not something he has been able to convince his palate of, even with milk and sugar and everything else Sam has tried putting in it for him.

"Morning," Garth says. "Didn't think anyone would be up at the crack of dawn with me."

Castiel shrugs. "I don't sleep."

"Oh, right," Garth says. "Angel."

Castiel takes down the flour and sugar and other necessary ingredients as he putters. "Indeed. And apparently you have not lost your taste for coffee, even as a werewolf."

"Nope," Garth says cheerfully. "Though I take it black now."

Castiel stops in his preparations. Garth does not like sweets, so muffins are an inappropriate breakfast choice. "Can I prepare something for breakfast that would be to your taste?"

"I'm fine," Garth says. "Coffee is all I have most days. I'm not a big eater in the morning."

"All right," Castiel acquiesces, turning back to the muffins. The Winchesters will enjoy them, anyway. "Let me know if I can get you anything."

"Just some morning conversation, if you're feeling up to it."

Castiel nods. There is a tension in the room that was not there before; he's not sure if Garth is nervous about discussing something or if he simply doesn't like being around angels. There are a number of hunters who prefer the company of humans and hunt anything non-human. He wouldn't expect that from a werewolf, but some biases die hard. He waits for Garth's first question.

"So… you and the Winchesters. How long have you been staying with them?"

Technically, Castiel had not made the bunker his home until last week. He supposes the Winchesters would have assumed the bunker was his home much earlier, but _home_ , much like _family_ , is a concept that has peculiar connotations to angels. There was some sacrifice in Castiel accepting the Winchesters' invitation, though they will likely never know it.

"A while. I suppose you might consider the bunker my home base for a little less than a year."

"Mmm hmm," Garth says, taking another sip of coffee. Castiel starts scraping his muffin batter into the center of the bowl for easier mixing. "And Sam and Dean? What are they to you?"

Castiel now thinks this might be some sort of human protection instinct. Many people feel protective of the Winchesters, and it never ceases to surprise Castiel the ways they will show it.

"They are my family. Those whom I protect and defend. Those whom I would lay down my life for."

Garth nods. "Both of them? Equally?"

Equality is not a concept that works well with love; love is too varied. Each person puts different weights on love and acts and words borne of love. Castiel has always struggled with the human conception of love and the limitations they put on it. "I love them both as much as it is possible to love a human being."

Castiel meets Garth's eyes and doesn't flinch. He doesn't know what Garth is looking for, but he seems satisfied with what he sees. "Here," he says, taking the bowl out of Castiel's hands. "Let me help with that."

~~~


	46. National Grab Some Nuts Day

~~~

There's this thing.

Sam doesn't like to think about it too hard because it's confusing and he thought they'd finally gotten past all that. But the thing is… 

Cas pets his hair. Sam loves that. He loves having people's hands in his hair, always has. There's a reason he grows it long. 

Cas pets it, brushes it back from his face, gives the occasional scalp massage. Sometimes, if Sam falls asleep curled up next to Cas, Cas'll rub his back. He likes that too; it makes him feel safe and protected.

Dean pets his hair, too, and that's awesome. Dean has always put his hands in Sam's hair when things were bad – when Sam was injured or dying, when he was a mess, disintegrating from the inside out. Sam has no idea whether Dean was trying to comfort Sam or himself or maybe both of them, but it means that Dean putting his hands in Sam's hair when he's not injured or dying is soothing.

The thing is… Dean's lazy. There's a certain thrill, every time, when Dean finally starts touching him. For Dean too, Sam's sure. It's scary, it's weird, it's a thing that has to be overcome, every time, and every time it brings with it a little adrenaline spike. 

But after a while, Dean gets tired, or bored, or whatever, and his hand drops to Sam's shoulder. And that would be fine, except Dean doesn't just rest his hand. He rubs his knuckles over Sam's collarbone.

It's not like Dean would have any reason to know that Sam's collarbones are sensitive, but they are. So there's a weird disconnect because Sam knows Dean's just a lazy bastard who can't be bothered to keep petting Sam's hair, but Sam's body hasn't gotten that memo, and it takes all the concentration Sam's got to keep himself under control.

And that's not even the worst part. Cas must see Dean do it, so after a few times, he starts rubbing Sam's collarbones too, and that's confusing in both a similar way and another wholly unfamiliar way. When Sam's turned on, he can't keep a lid on the way he sees Cas. Cas's celestial body is evident, and he can see the ripple effect – Cas touching Sam means there's a swirl of something new eddying in the currents of his grace. That adds a whole other level to whatever Sam is feeling. Attraction, desire, whatever it is, he wants it, and it's eating away at his resolve. 

He knows he has Dean's explicit consent for anything that happens with Cas, but he can't help the hesitation. He breaks everything he touches. He couldn't bear to break his brother – and he would. He doesn't know how, but he knows something will go wrong, and it'll be Sam's fault.

It's just… he's powerless against their touch. He doesn't have the resolve to remove himself from that situation, and soon it's going to spiral into something else, unless he can find a way to extract himself. 

He's done it before; he knows there are points in his life where he could make that sacrifice. He's just not sure he has enough willpower left to do it again. It's hopeless anyway; he doesn't think there's anywhere he could go that Dean couldn't track him down, and that means Sam would end up back at the bunker. And being around them without their hands on him would be even worse than being around them with their hands on him.

Sam lets himself lean into his brother, getting comfortable under Dean's heavy arm and his knuckles grazing Sam's skin. He'll hold out as long as he can, and hope he can find some way to keep them from breaking when he can't anymore.

~~~


	47. Happiness Happens Day

~~~

Dean doesn't mind water. He's hardly a sailor, but he gets the lilting feel of the water, finds his sea legs easily. It's a good thing, too, because the way this thing with Cas and Sam shifts, it's like being on the roughest ocean.

It was good for a while. A couple of weeks, even, after Garth's visit. They'd come into a rhythm while they prepared for the visit and Dean thought maybe they were heading for some smooth sailing. He supposes two weeks is about as much as he can expect with these two.

Sam started to get weird. Dean's not even sure he can put a date on it, just that it was right around the beginning of the Olympics – because he just _knows_ if he calls Sam on it, that's what he'll say.

They'd been watching all their TV in Sam's room. It was nice, and more than half the time meant they woke up together. Dean will never admit it, but that is his favorite thing. He liked it best when Sam's accidentally spooned himself around Dean when Dean's curled up around Cas. 

It only happened a couple of times because within ten minutes of that happening, Sam would heat up hot enough to spontaneously combust and wake up. Sometimes just enough to roll over and cool down – and that was usually Dean's cue to take Cas back to his room – but sometimes so much he'd climb out of bed to go for a drink of water, or one memorable time, to go for a shower.

But somewhere in there it got weird again. It'd taken time to settle in, every night, even after a couple of weeks, but once they did, it was comfortable and normal. It started getting weird somewhere just before the Olympics, but Dean had been ignoring it – sometimes if you ignored the weird, it went away. Not this time, though, and when Sam insisted on watching the opening ceremonies on the couch with a smorgasbord of snacks, Dean didn't complain, though he could tell it wasn't the snacks that was driving the move.

Now they're five days into the Olympics and back to watching TV on the couch, Sam usually on the floor and resting his head back against one or both of them. Dean doesn't mind that, he's happy to put his hands in Sam's hair. But after a while, he gets tired, and there's no real comfortable way to stay in contact with Sam when he's sitting on the floor like that. It was easier on his bed, Dean could just sling his arm over Sam's shoulder.

Dean sighs and shifts, yanking Cas across the couch so he can start petting Sam's hair (Sam's like a damn cat, and will start bitching if no one is petting him) and Dean can pay attention to the Olympics for a while. He forgets how much he enjoys watching swimming until it's on the screen again.

It's exciting; not just the swimming, but the weird rivalries and interpersonal dramas – Dean's always been a sucker for those stories – and he starts leaning forward, getting into it. When he does, Sam's back within reach, and he lets his knuckles drag over Sam's collarbone, an almost unconscious gesture.

He doesn't notice anything's off until the next commercial. The back and forth of his hand over Sam's skin has shifted the way Sam's sitting – and he's quiet. He'd been talking about something before, something about either the Olympics or swimming or… something. Dean just tunes him out when he gets like that – he knows so much random shit, sometimes it just comes spilling out of him, like he can't help it. Cas is always listening, so Dean'll know if there's something important, but for the most part, he tunes it out.

When Sam stops talking, though, that's when things get weird, like when all the creatures in the forest go silent. Dean doesn't change anything – doing so would mean admitting he noticed something, and he's still trying to figure out just _what_ the something _is_.

Cas doesn't seem to have noticed, either, his fingers still in Sam's hair, watching the commercials just as avidly as the Olympics themselves, like he doesn't understand the difference, even though Dean's sure he does.

It takes a long while for it to dawn on Dean that it's the way he's touching Sam that changed things. He kicks himself about it, too, because normally sensitive areas are something he pays close attention to in situations like this, he just hadn't because it's _Sam_ , and he assumed…

What? That there's not some automatic reaction because Sam's his brother? That's not how bodies work, and Dean knows it. 

A sense of relief floods in – he'd started to think that maybe he was wrong about Sam, maybe he really wasn't interested in sex anymore. He'd gone so far as to start researching that shit on the internet, and the completely baffling idea that there were people who weren't interested in sex had been enough to cramp his brain. He couldn't even process that there were people who not only weren't interested but actively didn't want it or were actually grossed out by it.

He'd kept going back, though, because there were bits and pieces that fit around the puzzle of Sam – and Cas, too – and he thought maybe, with a little time to wrap his head around it, he might be able to come to some kind of understanding, some way to accept things if they went that way. 

So yes, it's a relief that Sam's still interested, and Dean should probably stop baiting Sam except he's getting reckless in his old age, and he's tired of adjusting to the shifting seas of this thing between them. Maybe it's time for him to make some waves.

He smirks to himself and shifts sideways just enough to line his thigh up next to Cas's, and to bring his hand in close enough to run a thumb up the side of Sam's neck on the upstroke of his caress. Sam shivers, and Dean immediately goes back to dragging his knuckles over Sam's collarbone. 

Experiment number one, success. This is going to be so much fun.

~~~


	48. Rollercoaster Day

~~~

Sam knows Dean is an asshole. It's not like he has ever been unaware of that fact. Normally he just lives with it, mitigates it, when it's to other people, or reminds himself that Dean is really a good person under the gruff exterior he likes to wear like a thorny overcoat.

Sometimes, though, he needs to confront Dean about it – especially when Dean's being an asshole to him particularly, like he has been that last few days. 

Sam's not a prude by any means, and he doesn't have anything against Dean and Cas having sex anywhere in the bunker – assuming they clean and sanitize any surface they might eat on afterwards. But he also has no need to actually _be present_ while they're getting off, and Dean keeps putting him in situations where he can't walk away.

Like the time he threw the keys at Sam after a hunt, saying, "Why don't you drive?" like it was some kind of reward for a job well done. Sam does feel like driving the Impala is a reward most of the time; Dean's gotten more and more possessive of her the older he gets.

But Dean crawling into the backseat with Cas and fooling around – that was less of a reward. Sam kept his eyes forward and his headphones in, but there's no way to keep the smells of sex from getting to him, and he'd have to have his music up loud enough to make him deaf to drown out Dean's moans and groans.

Or the time Sam was attempting risotto – chained to the pot for three hours straight, stirring the damn rice – and Dean jumped on the counter, made gimme hands for Cas, and proceeded to make out with him then and there, in Sam's peripheral vision. For an hour straight. 

And when Sam had finally finished the risotto, Dean sat down and stuffed his face without the least bit of embarrassment. 

That's not the worst of it, either. Dean's innocent brushes against his collarbone have expanded to brushes against anything in reach – Sam's neck, jaw, shoulder, whatever. And of course Cas seems to have taken this as permission to really explore Sam's reactions, so he rubs his knuckles down Sam's arm, takes Sam's hand in his and traces the lines, stares at Sam like he's trying to memorize every atom.

All in all, Sam's jacked off more in the last week than he has since he was a teenager. 

And that wouldn't be terrible, really, because he hasn't been that interested in sex for a while now; he's not sure if it's depression or just getting older or maybe Lucifer. Probably some combination of all of them, but whatever it is means that he just doesn't think about it, at all.

So yeah, a little masturbation is a good thing. After the car incident, he'd jacked off fast and hard when he hit his bed, falling asleep almost immediately and waking up to a mess. 

The kitchen incident's different, though, for a million reasons. One being that he keeps going back to it. This is the fourth night in a row that he's lying in his bed, dick in hand, going over every detail of Dean and Cas's makeout session. 

The first time, it was all about how Cas took charge and just… bent Dean to his will. Sam's a switch in every imaginable way; he figures he's just moody. Sometimes he wants to be in control, sometimes he wants to give that up. It just depends. So yeah, the first time, the idea of an angel taking control? Definitely enough to make it to the finish line.

The second time, though… He hadn't even planned to jack off. He'd just started thinking about Cas pulling on Dean's hair, making his head fall back so his neck was exposed, and that was it. He was hard again, but this time something in the back of his brain wondered about Dean. Dean liked to submit? Did Dean like to get fucked? The second time, it was questions about Dean that pushed him over the edge, thinking about what, exactly, Cas might be doing with his brother in the privacy of their bedroom.

And thus began the slippery slope. The third night he'd gone to bed, he'd laid down on his front – that usually kept him from thinking about anything sexy because it was just too difficult to deal with it unless he wanted to disrupt himself and turn over. But then he thought about Dean's head thrown back, Cas biting his neck, and he's done for. Dean was so wanton, he just had to be amazing to fuck.

So here he is on night four, thinking about what has always sort of disgusted him on principle. He'd read enough of the porn on the fan sites to get an idea of what people imagined him and Dean doing and none of it had done anything more than make him curl his lip at it. Some was laughably bad, but the stuff that wasn't bad, while he kind of got the idea that it was hot, in his mind, as he read it, he just pictured two nameless, faceless guys. Not him and Dean. 

And this – this is different. This is specifically about Dean. This is Sam wanting to pull certain reactions out of Dean. It's a hold-over from non-pornographic control issues, Sam knows, but that just makes it better when he thinks about Dean giving it up, fucking begging for it… it makes everything so much sweeter.

He comes, the image of Dean under him following him into his dreams.

~~~

In the morning, Sam's disgusted with himself. Dean is back to being his asshole brother, and Sam is some kind of disgusting pervert. He knows he has to stop this – he has to put a stop to Dean's weird exhibitionism and both Dean and Cas's overly-touchy-feely petting sessions while they watch TV.

That part is easy. Since the kitchen, he's been begging off, claiming tiredness or research or just mumbling something and heading to his room. He can see the confusion on Cas's face and the consternation on Dean's, but he doesn't stick around long enough for either of them to lodge a complaint. 

And it just goes to show that whatever the hell Dean is doing, he's doing it on purpose. Sam just can't understand why. He knows Dean's been pushing him at Cas for a while now, but he'd backed off when Sam'd laid down the law about Cas. Still, Sam knows Dean, and he knows when Dean is holding onto an idea despite all the evidence to the contrary. 

So maybe that's what this is. Maybe Dean's trying to show Cas off, get Sam on board? Sam is on board – Dean has been the focus of his fantasies lately, but Cas was front in center in the first one, and Sam has to admit that Cas is appealing in any number of ways, sexual and not. But he's not going to do anything. He can't. He's put himself out there to them as far as he can go. 

Dean is happy. Cas is… content, maybe? He seems to have settled into their life here, and while happiness is not an emotion Cas shows often, if at all, he does seem to enjoy their life here, for a certain value of "enjoy."

There's a dark shape in the back of his mind that hounds him. It's the deep sadness of all of his losses. It's a roll call that starts with Jess (probably should start with his mom, but he's never really felt her loss the way Dean has) and ends with Charlie (for the moment). He knows he's complicit in every one of their deaths, and he is very careful with their current friends and acquaintances, tiptoeing around so as not to lose any more friends. 

He's gone over Cas's argument in his mind again and again. Rationally, he knows Dean and Cas are rock solid and that Cas's love is truly both unconditional and eternal. He also knows that Dean's is loyal to the end. It's conditional, and human, but it's deep, and Sam has never had cause to doubt it, not Dean's love of him, or anyone he's ever considered family – which includes Cas. 

He can't see a way that he could break them, but that's the problem – it's never the thing you anticipate that comes to the party with explosives.

He's had enough of breaking people. This has to stop. He has to stop it.

"Dean."

Dean looks up from the paper he's poring over, the simple curiosity on his face shifting immediately to damage control. "Sam," he says, with a warning in his voice.

"I can't." Sam knows he needs more than that. There are words that finish that sentence, but none of them make sense outside his brain. He knows Dean understands, though, because he's out of his chair, reaching for Sam, even as Sam backs away from him. 

"I need space."

"Sammy," Dean says again, trying to close the distance, but Sam puts his arms up defensively, and that stops Dean in his tracks. He knows Dean wasn't out to hurt him (he knows all too well what that looks like), but he can't help flinching away, and then feeling sorry for the hurt look on Dean's face. This is all too overwhelming. 

"Just for a little while," Sam says. "I have to go." 

Dean stops his advance, taking a deep breath and crossing his arms. "You're coming back?"

Sam nods. He can't even think of a scenario where he could permanently leave them. Even if he tried, Dean would track him down, and Sam is too weak not to come back if Dean asked.

"There's no way we can work this out and you can stay?"

Sam shakes his head. 

Dean nods his head absently, taking a moment before speaking again. "Text, at least once a day. So we know you're safe."

Sam nods his head. Dean's acceptance of this somehow makes it worse. Is this how he breaks them? He backs away. He needs to get out of here, he can't think.

"Here," Dean says, and chucks his keys. "Take Baby. And don't leave until Cas gets to say goodbye. I'll find him and send him to you."

Sam nods, turning over the keys in his hands. "I'm sorry."

Dean gives him a sad smile. "Me too."

~~~


	49. Bad Poetry Day

~~~

Castiel hugs Sam before he leaves. It seems to be unexpected, and Sam seems nervous about it, but he doesn't object outright.

He can tell Sam is distressed. Sam has been getting more and more distant the past few days, and Castiel had expected something like this. He is starting to be able to gauge Sam's moods better, follow the shifting sands in the desert of Sam's mind. He's not sure what brought this on, but it's simply Sam's self-doubt rearing its head. 

Once Sam has left, Castiel seeks Dean out. He's sitting at the table, pretending to read the paper. 

"Why did Sam leave?"

Dean looks up at him, a thunderstorm of emotions rumbling in him. "I don't know. I have some ideas, but I'm not a hundred percent sure."

"Tell me your ideas, then."

Dean closes the paper and sighs. Castiel knows he doesn't like to talk about these things; he shows love with physical gifts – sex, for Castiel, and small gestures of approval, for Sam. Words are Sam's currency, though, so Castiel needs to get them from Dean because Dean will not say them to Sam, ever.

"I may have pushed things a little too fast."

Castiel nods and waits for more. Dean will give up only as much as he needs to. Castiel has learned that if he doesn't take Dean's first answer at face value, Dean will often elaborate. He's seen Sam use the same tactic, if mostly unsuccessfully. Castiel thinks his non-humanity might be the thing that draws Dean out. Sam's frustration or concern or other emotion-of-the-moment is always present in his pregnant silences. Castiel simply lets the weight of the silence itself put pressure on Dean.

"The… thing," Dean says, rolling his eyes when he glances at Castiel. "On the counter." He sighs, dropping his head. "Making out while Sam was cooking."

Sam's been putting distance between them longer than that, but Castiel won't interrupt Dean when he's confessing. 

"And in the car."

"And the touching."

Castiel waits three long seconds before responding, to make sure Dean doesn't have anything else he wants to own up to. "That was for Sam's benefit?"

Dean throws a hand up casually. "I suppose so. Yeah."

Castiel thought Dean might have been a little forward with his petting; he could feel the way Sam's heartbeat sped up in response to particular touches, both from Dean and himself. As long as Sam didn't object, Castiel had delighted in pulling these responses out of him; he realizes now that not objecting verbally does not equal giving explicit consent, and Sam is very much in need of clearly spelled out rules, boundaries, and permissions. He should have put that together earlier. It might have made things easier to ask for things in simple, clear language.

"No part of you wanted an audience? To show off?" Castiel had understood that the incident in the kitchen had been a performance. Dean's cues had been clear, and Castiel had played his part willingly enough, especially as he could sense Sam's reaction, which he had thought at the time had been positive, but clearly had some other associations with it.

Dean shrugs. "I don't go looking for that normally, no."

Castiel considers that. Perhaps Dean only wishes to show off for Sam. "And what was the intended result?"

Dean can be surprisingly delicate at times. He's brash and obnoxious about almost everything, but the questions that hit close to home can cause him to have any number of strange and wonderful reactions. He's blushing now, a pink undertone to his tanned skin. Embarrassment is an amusing human reaction, one of Castiel's favorites. 

Dean mumbles something, and Castiel knows there are really only a few answers to his question and they all lie just outside the morality that Sam and Dean would consider to be normal. He could guess, let Dean get off easy, but he's fishing for words. He needs them for ammunition.

"Excuse me?"

Dean narrows his eyes and glares, but he says, clearly, "I don't know, maybe that Sam would jump in."

Castiel raises an eyebrow. He's almost there. "How?" 

Dean looks down at the table. "Does it matter?"

Castiel remains silent. He knows Dean already knows the answer to that question.

Dean rolls his eyes and looks Castiel right in the eye. "I suppose I thought it was most likely that he'd take over for me."

Castiel gives a noncommittal shrug. "But that wasn't what you hoped would happen."

Dean sighs. There is a lot of sighing when Dean discusses things that make him uncomfortable. "I wouldn't have minded watching that."

It's not quite an answer to Castiel's question, so he raises an eyebrow at Dean – lets him know he expects the whole truth.

Dean rolls his eyes. "Fine. No. Best case scenario, he joins in and we all have a good time. Second best, he takes over for you, and I get fucked for the first time in forever."

Castiel isn't sure how to take that; fuck is a strange term. It has many uses and meanings but only a few of them are truly sexual. He thinks that's Dean's meaning here, but as they've been having sexual relations for months, there must be some particular connotation that he is missing.

Dean huffs. "Don’t overthink it, Cas, it's no big deal. The worst case scenario is still some of my go-to jerk off material. There was no losing if Sam grew a pair and joined in."

"And you hoped he would?"

"Of course, Cas. I wasn't doing it to yank his chain. I wouldn't do that." 

Dean laughs once, a short bark of amusement. "Well, I would, but not now. Not now that I know what this is supposed to be."

"And what's that, Dean?"

Castiel can taste it, the final piece of the confession that will be his gift to Sam. Dean's not embarrassed or shy anymore, he's gotten over his discomfort and is speaking plainly, bald truths that are easier because Dean believes Castiel doesn't judge. He is wrong about that, but it's one of many misconceptions he doesn't disabuse the Winchesters of.

"Together, dumbass. The three of us. It takes all three of us to make this thing work."

Castiel nods. Dean still can't help putting a romantic spin on it. In truth, any relationship the three of them could cobble together would work. Castiel had been prepared for any number of eventualities, and any number of paths to the end result. He's glad Dean has seized upon this one, though, if only because he is the one required to make it fit. He just hasn't realized it yet.

"Thank you."

Dean squints at that. True, Castiel hasn't revealed his true intentions for Dean's words, but he thinks Dean will give his blessing when he explains. Later. After the fact.

"Tell me where Sam is going," Castiel says.

~~~


	50. Be an Angel Day

~~~

For the first day, Sam just drives. It works a lot like running, lets him sink down into himself and root around through his brain, try and set it into some order. He's driving because he'd probably run until he passed out, there's so much to unpack here.

He drives for nineteen hours straight, stopping only for gas, not speaking to anyone when he does. It takes a couple of hours for his nerves to settle, for the jangle of spiky emotions from his departure to leach out of him. After that he turns on music for a little while, puts his iPod on and headphones in and hums along to the music he doesn't get to listen to when he's traveling with Dean. 

After his first stop for gas (he loves the Impala but she eats gas like a hungry Tyrannosaurus Rex), he turns the music off and starts to work backward from when he left. 

Dean didn't want him to go. Dean wanted to fix… something. Did Dean _know_ why Sam had to go? Or was he just desperate for Sam not to leave? 

He has to assume Dean knew what he was doing with the makeout sessions with Cas, so… what. What was Dean trying to say? What does Dean want from him?

There are only two options, really. One, for whatever unfathomable reason, Dean wants Cas to be Sam's boyfriend too. He's been pushing the idea almost since the two of them got together, which is weird on so many levels, but beyond the scope of Sam's mental housecleaning, so he sets it aside for the moment.

Two…

Sam can't. It can't be. Dean can't… 

He shakes himself, forces himself to look at it head on, put words to it so he can figure it out and put it away. The second option is that Dean wants to make them a threesome. 

He can feel his heartbeat speed up in response. He takes one, brief moment to enjoy the idea, a quick succession of memories that, given this new context, shift in meaning. Waking up wrapped around Dean wrapped around Cas. Sitting on the floor with his head resting on Dean's knee and Cas's hand in his hair. 

The longing for it is strong enough to make his eyes sting.

He pulls himself out from the emotions, puts distance between himself and his desires. It's a trick he learned early in the cage; if he could take the emotion out of things he loved or wanted, they would fall away, a small, distant memory that was still his but wasn't a target for Lucifer because it wasn't close enough to the surface.

The distance calms him. It mitigates some of the self-loathing too, his nasty, degrading inner voice that tells him he's sick and disgusting, a monster, that wanting his brother is filthy and wrong and of course he's broken enough that he can't help it. 

The voice diminishes to dull roar, part of the general background noise that lives in Sam's brain. Most of the time he simply accepts what he is and tries to live his life as best he can to make up for it. When something like this happens, when forces conspire to make him think about things he shouldn't want or can't have, when his brother tempts him with Cas and ends up the object of Sam's attention himself, well. Then Sam puts physical distance between himself and the temptation until he can create the necessary mental distance. 

After many hours of circling back around, his heart reaching for the things he can't help wanting, and his mind quietly reminding him that they're not his for the taking, Sam breathes out. He's done it. His mind is clear and his emotions are calm. He pulls over at the next motel he sees and sleeps for twelve hours.

~~~

When Sam wakes up, he feels groggy, but even-keeled. The work he did in the car stuck. A couple of deep breaths to test the theory work out just fine, so he gets up and puts on running gear, stopping at the front desk to pay for the week.

The run sets everything into place, solidifies the emotions that had overwhelmed him into crystals that he can turn over in his mind, study with aloofness. Curiosity, nothing more.

After he showers, he's starving, so he makes his way to one of the three local diners. Dean would probably know which one was best – he has a knack for picking the best greasy spoon in any small town – but Sam requires empirical proof. He'll try a selection of dishes at each one until he decides which is best and settle in there for the week. 

He's not sure he'll need a week, but better safe than sorry. When he does work like this, sometimes he has to reinforce it a couple times, and it's easier if he has a home base he can use so he doesn't end up running so far he can't get back.

There's a chance that Dean or Cas will come after him. He didn't go looking for Dean's extra tracker – with the Impala, he's sure Dean could find him anywhere, anyway. Besides, he's not really trying to get away from them, he just needs a little space to pack away his crap in peace. 

The first diner – Mel's – is pretty good. Nice selection, the salad he orders is reasonably fresh and not slathered in dressing, and the burgers he sees come out to other tables smell good. He'll try one of those tomorrow, maybe.

When he gets back to the motel, it's early, but he's still tired from the drive, so he goes to bed. He'll get up early and run tomorrow.

~~~

_Sam's small again – maybe thirteen, before he had the huge growth spurts and became awkwardly gangly for a couple of years. Short enough to wedge himself into one of the small spaces, a nook underneath a piece of machinery shoved in haphazardly next to a locker._

_"Sam?" He can see Dean across the room, looking for him. He's not really looking – probably because Sam's always been terrible at hide and seek, there aren't a lot of really good hiding places for him – so he walks right by where Sam is curled up. "Sammy, c'mon, please."_

_Dean doesn't understand. He's never understood about Sam – he thinks he does, and he teases, or more than teases sometimes, calls Sam a freak and a monster, but he doesn't understand how right he is. For some reason Dean has always thought having Sam along meant making things whole, when in reality, Sam is the small fissure that ends up breaking everything later._

_Cas is calling for him out in the hallway and Sam can feel his heartbeat tick up. Cas will be able to find him, he's sure, and then they will drag him out of hiding and force him to –_

Sam wakes up suddenly, heaving. He's sweating, breathing hard, his hair plastered to the side of his head. The churning emotions are back, his desires for what he can't have battling against the knowledge that he will break them all if he tries to have what he wants. 

It's easy enough to see when he looks at his history – he has broken or gotten killed every single person he has ever had a real relationship with, Dean most of all. He's already broken Dean, but Sam's had years to trace the breaks, to find ways to glue Dean back together, and he has finally learned how to prevent him from breaking again. Cas was a godsend, (literally, his mind notes with amusement), a bit of crazy glue that stuck the pieces of Dean together and made him even stronger than before. 

He gets dressed, puts on his running gear, and heads out. The second time he stows his crap, it's easier. Faster. He can trace the lines of the last session, prevent some of the selfish spirals of emotion that drew it out the last time. 

He gives himself the first few minutes to imagine them, probably a bit of masochism on his part, but too tempting not to. He thinks about cooking for them, with them. Working together in the kitchen, touching and kissing in between preparing the food. There's warmth when Cas puts a hand on his neck to draw him down for a kiss, heat when Dean comes up behind him, fitting himself behind Sam while he sautés onions, Dean's hands roaming Sam's body.

He can feel the urge to grab Dean and set him on the counter so he can ravage him the way Cas did. He closes his eyes for a moment, shaking himself mentally, and opens them, ready to start packing it away. 

Unfortunately closing his eyes for a moment while running in the woods is a bad idea, and he missteps, some soft patch of ground sinking under him more than he expects, and twists his ankle when he goes down. 

_Shit._ It's not bad, not even a sprain, but he can't run on it. Shit, why he even wanted to run through the woods instead of on the highway, he's not sure. He likes cross country normally, nature is soothing, but he knows better when he has to think. 

He sits until the pain subsides, mentally calling himself an idiot for deciding to go cross-country when he knew he was going to be distracted, and for thinking it was going to be easy to pack this stuff away. 

He walks back to the hotel, slowly, favoring his injured ankle.

~~~

His ankle's not too bad, actually. A little swelling, a little tenderness. He takes a couple of Advil and sacks out on the couch, figuring he's earned himself a little break from sorting out the crap in his head. He turns on the TV and settles on a Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives marathon on the food network.

_"Sam," Cas calls. Sam's still hiding, wedged into the tiny space in the storage room. Dean can't see him, but Dean's not really looking. He wonders if Dean ever looked when they were kids. It makes him kind of sad to think that he probably didn't._

_Cas walks into the room and turns immediately to face Sam in his little hidey-hole. "Sam, I have something to show you."_

_Sam shakes his head._

_"Please, Sam, I think you'll like it." Cas holds out his hand._

_Sam thinks he probably_ won't _like it; he doesn't trust kindness. He shakes his head again._

_"Okay," Cas says, pulling his hand back. "I'll be here when you're ready."_

_Cas turns around and leaves the room._

~~~

When he wakes up from his nap, Sam feels surprisingly refreshed. His ankle isn't even sore anymore, and he's famished. He heads back to Mel's – he's feeling like he got lucky right out of the gate and maybe he won't bother with the other two diners in town – and orders a burger, medium rare, with everything.

When he's done with the exceptional burger, Sam leaves a huge tip and starts walking down the main street of the little town. It's early enough that there's still some traffic, pedestrian and automobile, and no one gives him a second look. He won't be able to walk long enough to do his mental exercises without looking like some kind of weirdo stalking an entire small town, but it's nice to get out and get moving.

He does a mental shortcut, packs all the crap he needs to look at into a box, tries to siphon off as much emotion as he can, and stuffs it deep in the basement of his mind. There are a lot of boxes down there, things he hasn't been able to pack away properly over the years, but sometimes you have to get work done, and it's a decent temporary fix. 

When he gets back to the hotel, it's after ten, and the TV is still showing Guy Fieri, currently in some strange place with weird pizza. He sits down for a couple of episodes, but when he nods off halfway through the second one, he just goes to bed. He'll get up early for a run tomorrow.

~~~

_"Sam," Cas's voice calls. He's not in the room – just outside it, if Sam's judging the echo correctly. He can hear something else, too, maybe Dean, but further away. He sounds like he's in the war room._

_Curiosity finally gets the better of him, and Sam crawls out of his hiding place. He heads out of the room, where he saw Cas leave earlier. When he gets there, Cas is nowhere in sight._

_"Sam," Cas's voice calls again, definitely around the corner, so Sam follows, tiptoeing up the hall in his stocking feet so Cas won't hear him._

_The sound of Dean's voice is clearer now, though the words are just a murmur. Sam edges up to the corner and looks around it. It's the hallway that leads to the main area of the bunker, and Dean's words are suddenly clear. "I may have pushed things a little too fast."_

_Sam huffs out a little laugh. Dean doesn't usually have a problem with that sort of thing. There is no "too fast" with the girls he likes._

_Wait. No. Dean is with Cas now. He can't be trying to pick up girls. What?_

_Sam turns the corner, making his way down the corridor as quickly as he can and still stay quiet. He gets to the war room and can see Dean hemming and hawing at the table, clearly uncomfortable. "The thing." Dean rolls his eyes and looks up at Cas mutinously. "On the counter."_

_Sam holds his breath. Is Dean saying –_

_"Making out while Sam was cooking."_

_The scene stops, like someone hit the pause button on the remote. Dean and Cas are frozen, looking at each other._

_"Sam," Cas says, and Sam jumps. Cas is standing right next to him._

_"Cas," Sam says, warning. "Don't do that."_

_"Apologies. I just wanted to be here with you while you observe."_

_Sam takes a deep breath, his heart thumping away hard in his chest. "What is this?"_

_"The conversation Dean and I had after you left."_

_Suddenly Sam has a terrible feeling that Cas can remember every word he's ever spoken, every inflection, every everything. "Verbatim? It happened just like this?"_

_"Yes," Cas says. "And before you ask, no, I cannot reproduce every conversation I have ever had or been witness to, just the ones I mark in my memory."_

_Whew. That sets Sam's mind at ease a little. "You marked this one?"_

_Cas nods. "I thought I might want to share it with you."_

_"Will I remember it when I wake up?"_

_Cas smiles at him. "You know you're dreaming. Most humans aren't able to discern that."_

_Sam shrugs. "I can't normally. I think it's the conversation with you."_

_Cas nods. "Conversation forces your brain to think in waking patterns. What if I could let you watch another way?"_

_The question sends a shiver up Sam's spine. Something here is dangerous. He knows his mind isn't a safe place, but he can't imagine Cas could hurt him in here. Maybe he could hurt himself. "What way?"_

_"I can bring you with me inside my vessel. You'd be able to see the conversation as I experienced it, including my own reactions."_

_The breath is knocked out of Sam. He doesn't think Cas understands his complicated history with envesseling. He could never offer his body willingly to anyone ever again; to have that offered_ to _him is humbling. "If you're sure, Cas."_

_"Of course, Sam. You are welcome to everything I have, including my thoughts and feelings." He holds his hand out and Sam takes it._

_A moment later Sam is obviously inside Cas. Everything from the way he's looking down at Dean, sitting at the table, playing with the paper, to the way the vision of Dean is drenched with fondness. "The thing," Dean says, and the eyeroll he gives Cas is so self-deprecating, Sam can barely stand it. There's an amusement to Cas's observation of it, and a heaviness to his lack of response, the weight of the silence obviously sitting uncomfortably on Dean as he fidgets._

_"On the counter."_

_Sam can feel the intention in Cas's silence; he knows that Dean will eventually finish his thought if he gives him the space. Sam knows that too, but he doesn't have the unlimited patience of an angel. He's going to have to work on that._

_"Making out while Sam was cooking."_

_Sam's still processing his own feelings about Dean's admission, that he was purposely pushing Sam (why? his mind asks, over and over) but he's noticing Cas's reaction as well. Patience, mostly, drawing Dean out. It makes Sam's own anxiousness about what Dean's saying worse, because he knows Cas got to the truth with Dean – something Sam has rarely done, and with less and less success the older they've gotten._

_"And in the car."_

_Sam's own reactions are muted in here. He can tell in his own body, his heart would be pounding, he'd be holding his breath – but this isn't his body, and the lack of his own physical reactions makes Cas's calm feel more real than his own anxiety._

_"And the touching."_

_Hearing Dean admit to doing these things on purpose is complicated, but Sam can't really judge his own reaction; he's too deep into Cas's, which is full of expectation. Cas seems to think Dean baiting Sam is no big deal. Was he in on it?_

_"That was for Sam's benefit?"_

_The way Dean dismisses the question is casual, a throwaway wave and, "I suppose so. Yeah." Sam can't believe he answered Cas's question seriously. Cas doesn't seem to understand there was any other answer. Maybe angels can tell when you're telling the truth, like cosmic lie detectors._

_"No part of you wanted an audience? To show off?"_

_Sam realizes that Cas is asking leading questions. He knows the answers to all of them – or thinks he does – and is leading Dean to… do what? Sam can feel his nerves and anxiety, like a bad taste in the back of his mind, but Cas's determination and fondness are front and center, and that trumps Sam's own emotions. There's a growing sense of claustrophobia that Sam hopes he can keep at bay long enough to get through the whole conversation; having his own emotions sit in the backseat feels too much like the way he was trapped in his mind with Lucifer and Gadreel._

_"I don't go looking for that normally, no."_

_Sam tries to hold onto Dean's voice. It's the only thing tethering him to his consciousness. He can feel Cas's presence in here, taking up the majority of the space and pressing him into the corners of the shared space. He can feel panic rising up in him, the feeling of not being in control freaking him out._

_"Cas," he thinks, but Cas is intent on the scene before them, Dean admitting… something. Something Sam can't quite follow anymore._

_"…wouldn't have minded watching that."_

_Sam's brought back from the brink by Dean's admission, though he doesn't know what Dean's referring to. He seems to have missed some key information in the middle. The curiosity is just enough to help him fight down the panic, and think again, louder, "Cas!"_

_"Fine. No," Dean says, and Sam takes in the words but he can't concentrate on them. He has to get Cas's attention while he's got control of himself, or he's going to freak out in Cas's mind and he's certain that won't end well for any of them. "CAS!"_

_Cas has finally noticed his distress, and Sam feels the telltale hook in his guts that lets him know he's traveling by angel express, and a moment later, he's back in his own mind, his heart thumping away and his ears ringing. It's the best sound he's ever heard. "Are you all right?" Cas asks, and Sam shakes his head. He is not all right, not by a long shot. That was a mistake, and an experience he will never repeat willingly._

_Dean's still talking at the table, and Sam's glad to be able to hear him with his own ears, feel his own reactions to the words, though they're just gibberish in the back of his mind right now. He has a good memory for sound – he should be able to pull the words up later, when he's not about to have a mental breakdown in his own dream, and analyze them._

_"Wake me up, Cas, will you?"_

_Cas looks sad. "I'm sorry, Sam. I thought the experience would be a gift –"_

_Sam shakes his head. "Not right now, Cas. We can talk about this later. I just… need to be awake and moving for a little while, okay?"_

_"Of course, Sam, whatever you need." Cas raises two fingers to Sam's forehead and Sam closes his eyes._

~~~


	51. Kiss and Make Up Day

~~~

Dean paces. 

Every once in a while he'll look at his phone, just to make sure, but he knows it's going to be a couple hours yet, and there's nothing to do but wait.

He'd tracked Sam when he left, pulled up the site and watched him driving in circles. He doesn't know if Sam was doing it on purpose, because he didn't want to get too far from home, but Dean hopes so. It gives him some comfort to think that was Sam's reasoning. 

He'd watched Sam drive for hours upon hours. He went to bed and woke up the next day and Sam was still driving. Dean's always been one to zone out in the car, letting his thoughts roam, disassemble and reassemble while the blacktop goes on to infinity. Sam's never really seemed like he was a big thinker while he was driving. Maybe conscientiously thinking about where they're going, but not really 'zone out and let the pieces fall into place' thinking. Maybe Dean's wrong. Maybe Sam can't think with someone else in the car.

Whatever, it was over fifteen hours of driving before Sam stopped moving, and then the none of the trackers Dean'd planted on him and the Impala moved for half a day. 

Cas'd waited once Dean pointed out that Sam was driving in circles. He'd paced too, but more with excitement than apprehension. Dean might have been relieved that Sam seemed like he wasn't planning on running, but Cas seemed to think it was some kind of victory. Or maybe there was something else, maybe Cas was planning something.

Whatever it was, Cas didn't leave until Sam'd settled in, a little town in Oklahoma, 300 miles from the bunker. Dean didn't track Cas, though he could've if he'd wanted to. He trusts Cas with Sam, which is saying something, because he doesn't trust _anyone_ with Sam except himself.

Cas wanders into the war room where Dean's pacing, watching Dean for a moment. "Maybe we should find something to pass the time."

Dean grins. He doesn't even know if Cas understood his own innuendo, but that doesn't slow Dean down. He grabs Cas's hand and makes for their bedroom.

~~~

Lying in bed after, Dean rests on his back, staring at the ceiling. Cas arranges himself to lie next to Dean, curled onto his side. He's staring, but Dean's gotten used to that. A lot of the awkward things Cas does are just part of their routine now.

"How long until he gets here?" Cas asks.

Dean reaches across to the nightstand and picks up his phone. "About an hour now."

Cas nods. "We will need to have a conversation."

Dean takes a deep breath. He's not big on putting words to the things they do; there isn't a good vocabulary for any part of their lives, it's always half-truths and incomplete thoughts. But Sam needs rules, and it's only fair they set them up in as clear language as possible. "Yeah."

"Are you willing to abide by Sam's wishes?"

Dean rolls his eyes. To some degree, yes. He knows where Sam's breaking point is, and he knows how far he can push. Sometimes he's reckless and pushes past it anyway, because he thinks Sam probably needs to break a little. He's so tightly wound – he needs a little relief from all that pressure. Still, when he breaks, he leaves. Not permanently now, but still, it means whatever Sam's doing or thinking, he's doing it by himself in the recesses of his own brain and there's some cockeyed thinking going on there. 

But the only way to get through to Sam is to talk about it – and that leads back to the fact that Dean sucks at talking about things.

"I'll try."

Cas makes a noise of disappointment, but if he really thought Dean was going to play by all Sam's straight and narrow rules, he's not thinking straight. Dean'll play by the rules for a while, see how things are working, but if they don't work, then it's Plan B, and his Plan B is pretty much "kamikaze that motherfucker."

"He needs order. And he needs to trust you."

"He does trust me. And he trusts me to do what I think is right, even if it's not what he would do, or what he says he wants."

"Dean," Cas warns, "Sam must be able to set boundaries and have you abide by them."

Dean doesn't one hundred percent believe that, but he's willing to give it a good old college try and see how it works out for Sam. If Sam seems happy, if Sam stops running? Great. Dean'll work out his own issues some other way. But if not, Dean's going to do what needs doing.

"I said, I'll try."

~~~

Dean paces the corridor to the garage, He doesn't trust Sam not to come in and try sneaking to his room, avoiding them. Cas has gone into the kitchen to putter, hopefully making some kind of tasty snack.

The rumble of Baby's engine brings a calm with it that Dean hadn't even realized was part of his uneasiness. He smiles just to hear her engine growl. He goes into the garage, waits to see what Sam's reaction will be. 

Sam climbs out of the car, glancing at Dean and giving him an acknowledging nod, and going around to the trunk to grab his duffel. He comes right over, standing next to Dean like he's waiting for something.

"Cas is in the kitchen," Dean says, feeling lame.

Sam shrugs. "Let me put my stuff down, I'll meet you there."

That's better than Dean was hoping. He holds the door to the garage open and lets Sam go first.

~~~

Turns out Cas was making sweet potato fries. They'd tried them once a couple of weeks ago, and something about them touched a nerve in Cas; he spent days researching online and trying different recipes. The ones he seems to have settled on are thick wedges, dusted liberally with sea salt. Dean snags two off the plate when he comes in.

"Don't eat them all before Sam gets here."

That's not even possible; there is a huge mound of them on the plate in the middle of the table. "Don't really think that's going to be a problem."

Sam comes in a few minutes later, accepting a hug from Cas, if awkwardly. "Oh, man, I'm _starving_." He sits down across from Dean and digs in. "These are great, Cas."

Cas wipes his hands on a kitchen towel and shoos Dean across the bench so he can sit down, too. "I'm glad you enjoy them." He takes one himself and his face screws up in extreme concentration, smoothing out into pleasure after a moment.

"So," Dean says, no idea what the hell comes after that word. Sam looks up at him, expectant, but not worried. That makes Dean feel marginally better. "Everything sorted out?"

Sam nods, grabbing two more fries and answering, "Think so," before stuffing them in his face.

Dean doesn't know where to go from here. This is Sam's job, steering the conversation where it needs to go, no matter how painful. "And… do you need something? From me?" Cas nudges him, and Dean adds, "From us?"

Sam gives Dean the fakest grin Dean has ever seen, and says, "Nope."

Dean's stunned. Usually he's the one avoiding the tough subjects, but this is Sam dodging the question like a champ.

"Nothing," Dean says, the sarcasm clear enough that Cas turns to look at him with wide eyes. "We're good."

"Yeah," Sam says, "we're good." He grabs a handful of sweet potato fries and chows down on them.

It's a basic fact of Dean's existence that when Sammy lies to his face, he does the most obnoxious, mean-spirited, assholish thing he can think of as punishment. So he tugs Cas toward him, into a kiss, moving straight into hot and heavy with lots of tongue and groping.

Sam clears his throat and when Dean looks over at him, his best innocent face on, Sam says, "Well, you kids have fun, I'm –"

"Dude!" Dean leans across the table, yanking on Sam's arm to sit him back down. "If you need something, you have to ask."

"What? You're fucking with me, it's fine."

"No."

"Yes." Sam grins. "It's fine, I don't expect anything else."

"No, I mean, we're not fucking with you," Dean says, a host of things he doesn't want to look at too carefully looming close to the surface. "I wouldn't do that."

Sam rolls his eyes. "Look at you two! You're perfect the way you are. I know you're just messing with me because I'm your little brother, I get it."

Dean can feel the urge to punch Sam scratching at the back of his mind. He knows Sam's being purposely obtuse, but it's about the only way he can out-stubborn Dean. "This isn't perfect, Sam," he says, waving at Cas. "It works because we work it. And it would work if it changed, we'd work that out too. Don't think it's some kind of precious piece of artwork you'd deface – that's not what a relationship is, and if you don't know that, then…" 

Then what? Dean's heart gives a lurch. Sam wouldn't know that. The couple of relationships he's had have ended badly, before any of the compromise and hard work started, probably. 

It's not like Dean and Cas have to work that hard at it, but Dean's put a fair amount of work into the three of them. He's invested. He doesn't want Sam's stupid ideas about being a bad influence to derail this thing. 

Still, there's a limit to what he's actually going to put into words – he's already said more than he should, probably, and Sam's still looking at him with that fake beatific smile that Dean really wants to punch off his face, and that's just it. Dean's had it. He's full up on his quota of serious talks for the month. He's going to get into his car and drive.

"Whatever," he says, disgust getting the better of him as he leaves the table. Let Cas talk it out with Sam, he's better at it anyway. "I'm done."

~~~

When Dean gets back in a couple of hours later, half a cherry pie in hand, Sam is sitting in the war room, reading some thick, dusty tome and drinking some of the good scotch. 

"Hey," Dean says. He feels bad for his outburst, but he's not planning on apologizing.

"Hey," Sam answers, that lightness in his tone that Dean knows is forced because Sam doesn't want to upset the apple cart. 

Dean decides to wait. Maybe Sam's got something to say and he can get the ball rolling. He pours himself a glass from the decanter.

"Sorry if I pissed you off," Sam says, and Dean rolls his eyes. It's not like that's even really an apology – Dean knows that trick, he's used it on Sam a million times.

Dean shrugs. "Don't do it again."

It's a tall order – if Sam's planning on sticking with his plan to keep them at arm's distance, there's no way it won't come up again, and piss Dean off jut as much next time. It's an impossible request, which serves Sam right for his bullshit apology.

"Listen, Cas said we need to set some ground rules. Clear, easy lines so we know when we're crossing them."

 _Here we go_ , Dean thinks. Sam's going to unravel everything he's so patiently worked on for months, one step forward and ninety-two steps back.

"There's only two things, really," Sam says. Dean raises an eyebrow. He'd expected a list as long as his arm.

"Don't start anything with Cas when I can't leave." 

Dean is about to complain but Sam shakes his head and raises a finger. "I might not always leave, but I have to have the choice."

 _Huh._ That's better than Dean expected, actually. "Okay, what's number two?"

"Stop if I say stop."

That's also pretty reasonable, but if they're really going for clarity, then Dean's gotta ask. "Stop what?"

"Whatever. Touching me, making out with Cas, _talking_. Whatever."

That's a pretty tall ask, but fair. It goes both ways, too, Dean knows – Sam's given him and Cas permission to say stop or call quits on anything, and that's a good ground rule to have. "All right," Dean says. "Sounds fair to me."

Sam nods. "Good."

Dean grins. This feels all right. This feels like progress. Sam's smiling, too, so all in all, this is a banner day. "Good," Dean says, and tips his glass to clink Sam's.

~~~


	52. Toasted Marshmallow Day

~~~

Sam's not 100% sure what Dean was thinking, but apparently when he texted Donna about being the next test guest for dinner, he asked if she had any special requests. Her answer? Baked Alaska.

Which is how Sam is elbows deep in ice cream, and Dean and Cas are leaning back against the counter wearing identical amused expressions.

This is his fourth attempt at making three flavors of ice cream he likes. He did his first combination with a single ice cream maker and the patience of a saint. The second, he went out and bought two more ice cream makers and ingredients for twelve potentially tasty flavors. For fruit, berry sorbet seems to work best. Mango and kiwi were both a bust, and strawberry ice cream is okay, but raspberry sorbet is better.

He got some special cocoa powder from a spice store – who knew there were stores that sold nothing but spices?! – as well as six vanilla beans and three different kinds of cinnamon for good measure. He can put it on his oatmeal if nothing else.

Now there are fifteen small containers of ice cream on the table in front of him, and he's scooping up combinations into bowls. So far he has the classic Neopolitan, cherry-milk chocolate-vanilla bean, peach-cinnamon-butterscotch, raspberry-dark chocolate-cinnamon, orange-French vanilla-caramel, coffee-milk chocolate-vanilla bean, raspberry-lemon-French vanilla, and two that he can't actually remember anymore. He figures it'll be obvious when they taste them. He hopes so, anyway.

"All right," he says, after they've stuffed the ice cream containers back in the freezer. "Let's see what we've got."

They take it seriously for the first couple of bowls, Cas making the thinky expression that Sam knows is extreme concentration on his human senses. Dean's not big on letting things rest on his palate, he just takes a scoop with all the flavors and either grimaces or smiles. He mostly likes things with chocolate in them, not that Sam couldn't have predicted that. Cas likes the peach combo and anything with coffee – and he dislikes cinnamon, which Sam is a little surprised at. He likes to put cinnamon on meat, just a little, for an interesting flavor that's hard to pinpoint. Dean hasn't been able to figure it out yet, and he knows it's driving him crazy.

Maybe that's it, though. Cas has very strong connotations; a lot of the way he experiences food is referential, so if he relates cinnamon to meat, having it in dessert must be disconcerting. Sam's trying to get him used to mixing things up but it's slow going. He's not much for experimenting with flavors on his own; he's really a texture kind of guy.

Cas's concentration wanes after the fifth bowl or so (and Dean's tried them all and is finishing up the bowls Sam and Cas have already tasted), so Sam only gives Cas the combinations he thinks Cas will like. The cherry-chocolate combo works the best for all of them, though Sam personally prefers the peach. He'll use the peach ice cream in one of his practice Alaskas; peaches are going to be out of season soon, and it'd be a shame to let them go to waste.

At some point, Dean started decorating Cas's face with ice cream and licking it off. Cas is making adorably grumpy noises at him, and Sam grins and keeps on with his practice bake. The next time he looks up – after he puts his first construction in the freezer – Dean and Cas are making out against the wall of the kitchen, Dean crowding Cas for a change. 

Sam spares a smile for them and debates building the second Alaska later; they can only fit one in the oven at a time, but they have to set for four hours. He wants to do at least two practice bakes, so he has to construct at least one more before he can leave the lovebirds in peace, unless he delays everything for a few hours, which means doing this all again tomorrow. He casts a sly look over his shoulder at Dean and Cas. They're just making out, slow and weirdly sweet, which is something Sam wouldn't really have expected out of his brother, though he rolls his eyes at himself for underestimating Dean in that way.

He decides to stick around, busying himself with building the second Alaska and getting it into the freezer to set. By the time he closes the door on it, Dean and Cas have wound down and are picking at the leftovers of the fruit on the table. "Well?" Dean demands. "Did you decide what you're going to do?"

Sam shrugs. "I was thinking the cherry-chocolate, but I made a peach-butterscotch, too. We'll see what they look like when we get them out of the oven later."

Sam makes two meringues – one Swiss and one French, because he can't help being annoyingly thorough. To top it off, he goes halfsies on each Alaska, so he can tell if there's a difference between how they cook in the over versus being blowtorched.

He should've known that once he lit up the blowtorch, Dean would want to horn in on the action. He browns half of each type of meringue and lets Dean go to town on the rest. When he glances over at Cas, it looks like Cas actually might be curious about using the blowtorch, too, so maybe Sam'll do another practice run and let Cas have a turn with the dangerous implement.

By the time they're done, Sam's pretty sure he's got his recipe down, but he makes a date with Cas to build one the next day, just to be sure. He doesn't invite Dean, but he doesn't believe for a second that his brother won't show up anyway.

Spending a day in the kitchen is exhausting, and eating nothing but ice cream for most of the day is a good way for Sam's stomach to turn sour, so Dean offers to go out for Chinese while Sam and Cas pick out a movie to watch. They go back and forth for a while, but in the end the only genre they can agree on is animated, so it's either Zootopia for the umpteenth time (and Sam likes the movie, he does, but not three or four times a week like Cas does) or How To Train Your Dragon 2. Sam jumps at anything that isn't about bunny cops and they set up the blu-ray and pop some popcorn, even with real food on the way. Cas mostly likes the way the Jiffy Pop expands as it heats up, and Sam mostly likes watching Cas's eyes crinkle up with delight.

Later, when the Chinese containers are strewn around the couch and Sam's on the floor with his head on Cas's knee and Dean's fingers on his neck, he thinks maybe he could get used to this.

~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know - Baked Alaska doesn't have toasted marshmallows on it, but I've already written s'mores, and it _looks_ like toasted marshmallow, so it'll have to do.


	53. Letter Writing Day

~~~

It took way too long, but it's finally dawned on Dean that Sam is more settled, less edgy, when he's cooking or planning to cook. It's not the concentration – Dean's seen Sam hunker down with research and school and some hobbies, even – but there's something about cooking that soothes Sam's skittishness.

It's not just that he didn't run away when Dean and Cas made out in the kitchen, either, though that was a nice side benefit. It's that after a long day making food, Sam relaxes with Dean and Cas and doesn't overthink things. He sets his head back on Cas's knee and lets Dean pet his hair, and all is right in Dean's world.

He'd texted Donna on a lark, trying to see when she might be available to come down for a day or two. The baked Alaska thing was a hilarious bonus. A few texts later and she's planning on spending Labor day weekend, and she's somehow invited Jody and the girls along. 

That sends Sam into a whirlwind – he insists on knowing what kind of food they all like and if they have any allergies or special diets, and Dean spends the better part of two days making sure the logistics are all set while Sam plans a menu and starts practicing individual dishes. They're doing a dry run today – it's the last day before the women descend on the bunker. Sam's got everything planned out in intricate timetables and lists – several for each of them. 

Dean's come around to being Sam's sous chef. He likes cooking himself, but it's a different thing. He cooks by instinct, and his idea of good food is nostalgic and simple. He likes the basics – burgers, spaghetti, mac and cheese – just done up with good ingredients. He'll try a few experiments here and there, but mostly he likes the classics. 

Sam, though. Sam likes to push the limits. He's read more cookbooks in the last few months than Dean's read regular books in his entire lifetime. He watches every cooking show he can, usually devouring them whole when they're on Netflix or marathoned on the Food Network. He puts his big brain to food, and the things he comes up with are nothing like anything Dean's ever tasted. He's never known high-end food, not like Sam has, so just about everything is new and weird to him. Sometimes it's good, but a lot of it is just strange, and Dean's slowly coming around to some of the things after they've made them a few times. He needs some familiarity with his food before he can decide whether or not he likes it.

His phone buzzes and Dean shakes his head. Jody doesn't like dessert. Fascist. 

"Hey Sam," he yells into the kitchen. "Jody wants a cheese plate for dessert."

~~~

They've cooked together enough now that they have a beautiful, intricate dance in the kitchen, one of them chopping vegetables that another sautés, the third one working on the garnish while he keeps an eye on whatever's in the oven. Sam times everything down to the second, and Dean's always worked well with structure.

It takes four hours to pull everything together, and by the time they're sitting down to taste everything, a couple of the first dishes are cold. With Garth, they'd had a number of cold dishes, so that was okay; with the girls, it means they're not going to eat together – they're going to present. They'll sit down to an easy meal on Saturday, maybe Dean'll throw some steaks on the grill, but Friday, it's going to be Sam and Dean and Cas bringing out plates of intricately displayed food and watching their reactions.

Dean's kind of excited about it, honestly.

~~~

After the practice session, they sit down on the couch, which is how they end the day most days, when cooking's involved.

Dean'd been carefully keeping his hands neutral, not wanting to test Sam's "stop if I say stop" rule, but a couple of days ago, Cas apparently went too far (Dean didn't see it but it was probably Sam's neck – Cas is obsessed with Sam's neck) and Sam said "stop" and _everything_ stopped. Cas shifted to the side so Sam wasn't leaning on him, and he wasn't touching Dean, and Dean stopped touching Sam, and it was all very awkward until the end of the movie, after which Sam mumbled some excuse or other and went to bed. 

The next night Cas behaved, and Dean did too, mostly. Except. Except he knows now that Sam is probably only going to use the "stop" rule for big infractions, because he doesn't want everything to stop, but he doesn't want to come out and specify which action he wants stopped. It's a ridiculous sort of logic, but Dean knows how Sam's brain works, and he knows that they're basically feeling out where, exactly, Sam's limits are. And Dean's always been one to push boundaries. 

He hasn't done much most nights, just a couple of touches out of place in between the ones that are perfectly innocent, and he carefully noted Sam's reaction, what made him quiet, what made him shift, what made him lean in a bit more.

It's all one big experiment, but Dean's figuring out the lay of the land.

He's just about to try something – maybe Sam's neck, to see what the fuss is all about – when his phone goes off again. Donna and Claire have been texting every few hours to ask about the menu for tomorrow and tease about weird menu ingredients or requests. Claire asked for jackfruit – which she is getting, and Dean hopes she hates it as much as he does – and when he looks at his phone, he has to laugh. "Donna wants homemade donuts for breakfast," he says, letting his fingers brush Sam's neck as he tilts his head back and groans.

~~~


	54. Take Your Manners to Work Day

~~~

When Jody, Alex, and Claire show up at the bunker, Castiel finds out why Sam won't allow him to help with the entrance sigil for welcome visitors. It seems he's taken a page out of his grandfather's book and used the power of his soul to etch the magic permanently onto their souls. There's an afterimage on their skin, a sigil Castiel understands is only symbolic of the one marking their soul – after all, a human body continuously reinvents itself, but a soul is constant.

It's smart. And clever. All things Castiel already associates with Sam, but is always pleased to see in the day-to-day workings of their lives.

The introduction to Jody and Alex is short. "Jody, Alex," Claire says, "This is Castiel. And he's wearing my dad." Alex just looks confused, but Jody's eyes widen and then narrow again. 

Claire has softened toward him, but he will never be able to make up for what she lost, so he accepts her barb with a small nod. "It is nice to meet you both." He doesn't try to touch them. He knows, sometimes, that introductions are made with handshakes, or in some instances (like Garth) with hugs, but he thinks caution is the best course of action here. 

They sit around the war room table with drinks and catch up on the goings on. Castiel is hardly familiar with most of the facets of human life, but it seem that the lives of teenage girls are well beyond his understanding. Sam and Dean smile and laugh at their stories, offer encouraging advice about difficult teachers and next steps in their education and seem uncomfortable when the subject of dating and boyfriends comes up. 

There is some lighthearted banter around it and then the subject is mercifully dropped upon Donna's arrival. 

Donna's introduction is done by Sam, and it goes much more smoothly than the introduction to the other women. He supposes they are family, and protecting each other similar to the way the Winchesters protect each other. He is glad Claire has found somewhere to belong. 

Donna smiles widely at him and comes in for a hug, similar to Garth. He can see the happiness that surrounds her like a cloud; she is one of those rare human beings that radiates goodness and kindness from their soul like a beacon.

There is a dark spot in her aura, though, and when she hugs him and he can smell her, he knows what it is. "Do you have a history of breast cancer in your family?" he asks.

She turns to Sam, looking confused, then down to her chest, crossing her arms over it. Castiel thinks perhaps the question was inappropriate, but he supposes it doesn't matter. "Apologies, it's just that you have a tumor in your left breast." She wraps her arms around herself tighter.

"That's personal," she says, backing away, glancing back and forth between him and Sam. 

Sam steps forward, places a hand on her shoulder and draws her back in. "It's okay, Donna. He's an angel." Sam looks to Castiel with earnest eyes. "Can you heal her?"

"Of course," Castiel says, turning to Donna. "If you will permit me."

"An _angel_?" Donna questions. "Like, fluffy wings and halos?"

"Halos are a misrepresentation of the aura of an angel's grace by early Christian artists," Castiel says. "And I suppose my wings are fluffy, though they are not physical in nature so there is no way to ascribe texture to them."

Donna's eyes go wide for just a moment, and then she laughs. "Oh my god, you're precious!" She takes two quick steps toward him and opens her arms to hug him again. He heals her in the brief moment she is pressed against him.

"Ow!" Donna says.

"What did you do, Cas?" Sam steps behind Donna, towering over her, but not menacingly – only providing stability. He puts his hands heavily on her shoulders. 

"No, no, it's fine," Donna says, patting Sam's hand. "It was surprise, not pain. He healed me. I felt it." She puts her arms around Castiel again, a warm and earnest thank-you hug. He is astounded by the number of ways in which hugs can construe emotion – the Winchesters do not hug often, and the few times they have hugged him, it is usually a simple greeting, nothing more than "I missed you" – which is, for them, more difficult to say out loud than to show with physical affection.

"Thank you," Donna whispers in his ear, squeezing him one last time before letting go. 

"You're welcome," Castiel says, smiling at her. He could never let such a beautiful soul suffer from something so banal as cancer. 

Sam clears his throat, a tactic he uses often when things are uncomfortable. "We should take care of the entry fee," Sam says. "We have to get inside and start cooking."

Castiel watches over Sam's spellwork again, solid and sure, and a piece of his own soul joining the brightness of Donna's. She looks down at the sigil and up at Sam and goes in for another hug. 

Now that Donna is here, they must begin to cook, so they get her a drink, and Sam and Dean stay just long enough to be polite while Castiel sets the table around them, a linen tablecloth, excessive flatware, and their opening dish, prepared and chilled earlier today. 

As Castiel doesn't have much experience with food outside his brief stint as a human and the last few months with the Winchesters, he doesn't know what it means when Sam calls a dish "A Take on Shrimp Cocktail." He understand that the phrase "a take on" means Sam has done something to a traditional dish to make it his own, but since Castiel doesn't know the original dish, it's impossible to relate the new one to the old. 

Sam and Dean get up from the table, but they all wait a beat to see what everyone thinks of the dish. Jody and Donna go straight for the seafood, eyes big and smiles wide. The girls share a look and politely take the vegetables Sam included in the dish for exactly that purpose. 

Sam is wearing a bright smile, always extraordinarily pleased when people enjoy his cooking, and he settles a soft hand on Jody's shoulder at her worshipful comment about the sauce.

"Sit back and relax," Dean says as they head to the kitchen, "because you've got ten courses to go."

~~~

One of the things Castiel has learned about cooking on this scale – and it's a tiny scale, compared to what he sees on the shows about restaurant chefs, but it feels huge to him – is that preparation is the key to everything moving smoothly. They had spent the morning chopping, cooking, and organizing ingredients, making three of the chilled dishes beforehand and getting the bread ready to be put in the oven when the women arrived.

Dean had put it in the oven when Jody texted that she was outside the bunker, and it is just about ready to be pulled out and served hot. They're knots of bread, some mix of spices in the dough that Sam will not divulge, and the butter was prepared by Castiel, herbs mixed carefully in and pressed into a mold Sam created, another sigil. It's an innocuous one, a symbol without much magic of its own. It's for contentment – but it is powered by the person drawing it, and Castiel could feel Sam's gentle good wishes in the shape as he pressed the butter down into it. 

He adds his own fond wishes for happiness for their guests as he pops the butter out of the molds and arranges it in two dishes. He is only just beginning to understand beauty, but Sam appreciates order and usually approves of the way Castiel presents his dishes.

Sam sends Dean out with the bread and butter, another layer of intention being added to the kitchen spell he's not entirely certain Sam understands he's weaving. Dean certainly doesn't understand and is wary of magic on his best day, so Castiel would never bring it up to him. He thinks Sam might have some inkling of what he is doing, but not the extent to which it extends to everything he does in the kitchen and shares with his friends.

~~~

Castiel is always amused by the graceful way the Winchesters share space, especially when they are both moving. Dean has often referred to the way they work in the kitchen as a dance, and Castiel understands that metaphor, but it's more than that. Sam and Dean live their lives in concert, constantly aware of where the other is at any given moment, actions and movements planned around where the other will be.

Castiel has slowly insinuated himself into it, more like the motion of heavenly bodies in space than the choreographed movement of a dance. It is a natural shifting of trajectories and orbits as objects move into and out of their space; the two of them locked together like Pluto and Charon. 

Castiel smiles at this analogy. He enjoys watching the two of them, and enjoys the way he has been drawn into their movement, lopsided though it's been. He hopes they will stabilize, that Sam's wobbliness since Castiel bound them last year will steady. It has already become better, but there are lapses, and each of them exerts an equal amount of force, so if Sam shifts, Dean and Castiel shift as well, though perhaps more consciously on Castiel's part.

He shakes himself out of his reverie and concentrates on the task at hand. Dean has become quite the butcher – he enjoys working with meat and poultry and discovering how the anatomy affects the cuts. Castiel does the fish, however. He's not sure if it's because Dean is squeamish about fish or just that Castiel seems to be better with this particular protein. At any rate, he starts in on the sea bass, smiling as Sam has the tuna appetizers in the pan for searing. When he's done, he begins caramelizing the onions for the risotto. He chopped them earlier today, pungent sweet things, his eyes watering almost painfully. 

Dean and Sam take turns bringing the dishes out to Jody and Donna and the girls. Castiel gives them that; he enjoys assisting in the kitchen, enjoys Sam and Dean's reaction to food, but he isn't invested in the way they interpret what he's made. It's important to Sam, and Dean too, that their guests enjoy the food, so Castiel lets them deliver it and see the women's delight.

Three and a half hours pass quickly, and after nine elegantly plated dishes of food delivered and mostly eaten, they all get to use the blowtorch, because Sam decided on individual baked Alaskas. Castiel loves Sam's mind. The way, when he couldn't decide on a single flavor combination for all of them, he decided to create individual ones to suit each of them. 

"Oh, Sam," Donna breathes as she breaks the meringue shell of her Alaska, "these are amazing!"

The girls aren't too sure about the meringue shell, but Alex scoops out all the ice cream and Claire eventually comes around to the meringue, eating a little with each bite.

"This was really great," Jody says. "When did you guys get into all this? I swear it was less than a year ago when you were drooling at the thought of a home-cooked chicken."

Sam smiles sheepishly and shrugs, but Dean says, "We've been getting used to this place," waving a hand carelessly to indicate the bunker. "And Sam likes this fancy stuff, so." Dean shrugs. 

"Well, it was really great," Donna says. "Could've knocked me over with a feather at that invitation – and the baked Alaska was a joke, by the way. But this was incredible."

"Thanks," Sam says, now slightly shy, smiling happily but embarrassed to be accepting praise. Castiel knows it means a lot to him, and he has never received much of it. 

"I'm beat," Dean says. "Let's take this somewhere more comfortable."

~~~

They end up putting on a movie – some science fiction one that Castiel has never really understood, and considering the only people Castiel has ever done this with is the Winchesters, he is surprised when the women join in and do much of the same leaning and touching that has been so hard-won with the Winchesters. It is a revelation.

Claire sits on the floor next to Sam, leaning back against Castiel's legs the same way Sam has for months. Sam is actually leaning back against Jody, who puts a hand in his hair as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Castiel is jealous of the ease with which she is able to touch him.

Alex is curled up on Jody's other side, leaning against her, and Dean is on their lone chair, Donna at his feet. He's actually braiding her hair. Castiel hadn't even known Dean knew how to do that.

They only make it halfway through the movie before the women are nodding off, so Castiel scoops Claire up in his arms, Sam does the same for Alex, and Dean leads the way to the guest bedrooms they prepared for their guests this morning. The bunker is large and made for a small army. Castiel doesn't know much about the Men of Letters, but he doesn't believe they ever had as many members as there are sleeping rooms in this place. Perhaps they too were expecting guests.

Claire clings unconsciously to him in her sleep, and when he sets her down on the bed, he has to remove her arms from around his neck. He tucks her in, kissing her forehead like he thinks Jimmy might have done. She sighs, and again he is full of remorse for what he has taken from this young woman. She deserves better.

Dean comes to get him, having dropped Donna off in her room, and takes his hand, drawing him out of the room. "C'mon, Cas, don't be a creeper."

"I'm not being a creeper," Castiel says. "Whatever that means. I was just thinking she deserves better."

Dean turns to look at her, curled up in the large bed. "Yeah, well, so do we all. She's got good people now, Cas, stop worrying." He shuffles halfway around and kisses Castiel, and as has become almost habit, Castiel puts his arms on Dean's waist and draws him in, deepening their kiss. 

When they finally pull apart, Castiel sets his head down on Dean's shoulder. His regret is painful. Certain emotions have retained their potency from his brief time as a human being, remorse and regret chief among them. 

"Holy crap."

Castiel can feel Dean freeze, his muscles tense in a flight response. "Claire," Castiel says, not certain what he might say next. He turns to her and she is sitting up in bed, covers pooled around her crossed legs.

"You guys are together? Like, boyfriends?!" 

Her expression is incredulous, but he doesn't feel any recrimination in it. Just deep, deep surprise. "Yeah," Dean answers. "Guess so." 

Claire looks back and forth between them a few times, and finally settles on Castiel. "Cool."

"Really?" Castiel asks. He doesn't require her permission or acceptance, but he can't say he doesn't long for it. 

"Yeah," Claire says, finally smiling. "Congratulations."

Dean breaks out into a mischievous grin and takes Castiel's hand, tugging him out of her room. "Thanks. And go to sleep."

"Gross. You better not be loud!" she calls after them. "This place echoes, you know!"

~~~


	55. International Bacon Day

~~~

Dean wakes to the smell of bacon. He's started to sleep more, spoiled by the comfort of his bed and Cas in it with him, but bacon still wakes him up the second his brain registers it.

"Good morning," Cas says, kissing the top of his head. "It seems Sam has started cooking breakfast."

"Yup," Dean answers, torn between staying in bed a few more minutes with Cas and getting up to steal the first bacon out of the pan. Guests are the tiebreaker, though, so he rocks himself to sitting and wipes his eyes. "Better go make sure he doesn't hurt himself."

~~~

Turns out the bacon is for inside the donuts. It's genius. Dean still steals a piece, but watching Sam sprinkle half of it into the dough piques his interest. He starts making the coffee and setting out juice, and he debates making something for breakfast that isn't fried dough with bacon in it (and maple syrup filling), but he decides against it, because really. Who wouldn't want bacon and maple syrup donuts?

The rest of the bacon gets sprinkled on top of the donuts, and Sam slaps Dean's hand when he tries to take one off the platter. "Not until everyone's awake, Dean."

"Don't go denying your brother just because Donna's a late sleeper," Jody calls from just outside the kitchen. When she comes in and sees the plate of donuts, her eyes are cartoon huge. "Though I don't know how she slept through the smell of bacon cooking," she says, giving Sam puppy dog eyes. "Tell me there's a piece or two left?"

Sam grins, such a guileless smile it takes Dean's breath away. "For you, Jody, of course." He pulls out a couple of pieces of bacon from a stash he must have hid somewhere, which is impressive because Dean's like a bloodhound with bacon. He should have smelled that for sure.

Jody grabs a donut, too, winking at Dean. Dean reaches for the donuts cautiously, not really wanting another handslap, but Sam doesn't even say anything.

The donuts are _heaven_. Salty, smoky, sweet goodness. If the rest of the girls don't get out of bed, Dean is going to eat the entire plate by himself. He must make some kind of orgasmic food noises, because Sam looks equal parts smug and embarrassed.

"Ugh, so good," Jody says, stuffing her donut back in her mouth for another bite. "Donna doesn't know what she's missing."

"Don't count on that," Donna says, crowding in behind Jody and looking down at the donuts dubiously. 

"No, you have to try one," Jody says, eating the rest of hers in one gigantic bite and picking one up to shove in Donna's face. Donna chokes a little in surprise, but tilts her head back and manages to take a bite without making a complete mess. Quite a skill – one Dean'll have to learn, since these days, Sam and Cas attack him with food all the time in the kitchen.

"Uffda," Donna says, licking her lips. "What's in that wonder of the world?"

"Bacon," Dean answers, and hands her a napkin.

Alex is next to come to the kitchen, sleepy-eyed and dragging a bit and looking not quite ready to be awake. She side-eyes the donuts and goes for cereal instead, which is fine – Dean didn't like this kind of weird food at that age, either.

After Alex, he looks around for Claire and notices Cas is missing. Alarm bells go off – Cas and Claire have a rocky relationship at the best of times, and the last thing Dean wants to deal with is Claire running away from Cas and wandering the bunker alone. He swipes a donut and leaves Sam to entertain the rest of their guests.

~~~

Claire's door is standing open and Dean's heart is pounding a little as he runs down the hallway. When he gets to the room, though, he feels bad for making such a racket – Cas is sitting on the end of Claire's bed, smiling, and the two of them seem to have been having a normal, adult conversation.

"Hey," Dean says, awkward now, because he came storming down the hall for no reason.

"Hey," says Claire. "Where's that herd of elephants that was following you?"

Dean makes a face, but he can't be too mad because he can see Cas laugh a little under his breath, and there is precious little that makes Cas laugh. "You're late for breakfast," Dean says, going into the room to stand next to Cas and offering the donut. "And Sam made something special."

Claire stares at the donut dubiously, but leans forward to grab it anyway. "What is this monstrosity?"

"Bacon and maple syrup donut," Dean says proudly, as if he had anything to do with it. Claire makes an even more dubious face, but takes a small bite. 

"No – you have to get some of the filling," Dean instructs. "Take a bigger bite."

Claire rolls her eyes at him but does as she's told, and her dubious face turns into one of wonder. "Wow."

"I know, right?" Dean says, and Claire rolls her eyes again. 

"I would like to try one," Cas says, and Claire offers hers before Dean can feel stupid for not bringing two donuts.

"There's a dozen more in the kitchen. Sam always makes too many."

Claire throws back the covers, and her eagerness makes Dean smile. Cas looks disappointed, though, and it's just now dawning on Dean that he probably walked in on a conversation he should have left alone. Still, the donuts will be cold if they wait any longer, and he can find a way to shove Cas and Claire together again later. 

"C'mon, grumpy," Dean says, ruffling Cas's hair, which makes Claire giggle. "You need a donut."

~~~

After breakfast, the women want a guided tour, so they take them around to the safer parts of the bunker, with warnings not to touch anything. "Last time one of us accidentally knocked over a jar, it was the Wicked Witch of the West."

The women all look dumbfounded, except Alex, who looks excited. "From Oz? Really? Oz really exists?"

"Yeah," Sam says, "And Frank L. Baum was a man of letters. Dorothy was his daughter."

That makes Jody and Donna a little bug-eyed, but Claire just looks confused. "Who's that?"

Everyone turns to stare at her and she brings her shoulders up defensively. Cas falls in step next to her and says, "The Wizard of Oz. Frank L. Baum wrote it and –"

"And Dorothy was his daughter," Claire finishes. "Got it." Dean's glad to see her walk a little closer to Cas. 

"Yeah, so the moral of the story is "Don't touch anything."" He thinks about some of the artifacts he played with those first weeks and grimaces. At least his luck held. Unless there's something skulking around here, waiting to escape… or already escaped, or –

Dean mentally shakes himself. There's nothing to be done about it now, and it's not like he's ever going to turn into the look before leaping type. Best he can do is warn other people off.

They end up losing Sam and Alex in the archives, and Cas and Claire somewhere along the way – the weapons room, probably, knowing Claire – and it ends up just him, Jody, and Donna, wandering the bunker.

"Pretty sweet set-up you boys got here," Donna says after she's poked through every box in the storage room. 

"Yeah, it's been… helpful. Even got me doing research – there's more information than even Sam could read in a lifetime."

Jody smiles at him. It's sad, that smile, and somehow she seems to look right past all the bullshit he keeps front and center and stab him right in the heart without saying a word. "You two all right?"

He nods. She's seen a lot of different sides of him and Sam, she knows them better than probably anyone else alive right now. The mess they're in, well. At least it's not life-threatening. "We're okay."

"And you and Cas?" Donna asks. "Did I overhear you're together?"

Dean chuckles, can't help looking down and avoiding Donna's eyes. "Eavesdropping, Donna?"

"You betcha," she answers, punching him on the shoulder. "Answer the question."

"Yeah," Dean answers, hating that it embarrasses him. Not Cas, not their… whatever-it-is, just… telling people about it. "We're together."

Jody hmms. "Is that what's weird between you and Sam, then?"

Dean can't help turning a confused face on her. "What? Nothing's weird between me and Sam. We're fine."

"Uh-huh," Jody says, sarcasm dripping from the words. "You two are perfectly peachy."

Donna giggles, just a little, putting her hand over her mouth before too much escapes.

"No, really," Dean says, suddenly worried, because he didn't have any concerns about him and Sam two seconds ago, and now all kinds of alarm bells are going off. "We're fine, everything's good."

"All right," Jody says, and Dean's got a crazy urge to slip a bug on her, because he knows she's going to sit down with Sam and he is just going to have to be a fly on the wall for that conversation.

~~~

The afternoon flies by, video games with the girls and pizza because Dean's too lazy to throw together stuff for sandwiches, Donna and Jody playing cribbage with Sam and Cas. They hang out and do nothing important, Alex thumbing through their library until she finds the original Wizard of Oz in their collection and sits down with it.

It's strange. Dean knows how to relax – or he used to, anyway. When there wasn't a hunt, they'd go off and do whatever they wanted to do. They spent a week binge-watching TV and ordering in back when Sam'd just gotten back on the road with him. He used to watch sports; they'd drive for games, concerts, other events, like that Star Trek thing in Vegas. 

They haven't really been able to take time off in a while, though, something big always looming on the horizon. It's weird not to have some big bad they need to fix out in the world. Weird, but nice.

So when Claire brings up a case over dinner (bacon cheeseburgers, mac and cheese with bacon, and some vegetable thing or another Sam cooked up), Dean could kiss her. 

"Hands and feet cut off," Claire's saying, as Jody moans over her cheeseburger. 

"You guys should open a restaurant," Jody says. 

Dean laughs. "It's be schizophrenic – my burgers and Sam's hoity-toity stuff?"

"Yeah," Donna says. "Yin and yang."

"Excuse me," Claire says, slamming her phone down on the table. "Hands and feet cut off?"

"Oh," Sam says, solicitously concerned as always, "sounds like Amazons."

Jody's eyes get big and go to Sam, but Donna keeps chowing down happily on her burger. Apparently Amazons don't faze her.

And Dean finds out just how soft he's gotten when Claire puts up a half-assed argument and he agrees to let her come along, already nodding his head at Donna and Jody's insistence on supervising. He can't decide if this is going to be a disaster or the best time he's ever had on a hunt. Both, probably.

~~~


	56. Be Late for Something Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: graphic descriptions of wounds, vomiting, and medical care

~~~

Oh, Dean is going to throw up. He's got the sour, metallic taste in the back of his mouth, and his mouth contracts and starts to water heavily, and oh, there are the bile burps, please, god, let him keep this down, at least until he won't puke into his own gaping gut wound.

He goes for his phone, hoping it wasn't crushed when he was thrown against the wall. In his experience, it's about 50-50, cell phones surviving that kind of abuse. 

He can't really move his arm without excruciating pain, so he curls his torso sideways to get his fingers closer to his pocket. He takes a couple of breaths through his nose, trying desperately to quell the nausea. Unfortunately contorting himself like that puts pressure on his gut wound, and more blood trickles out. He's about to lose consciousness, so he gives up on the cell phone and prays. 

"Cas." He hates that Cas can't answer; without his wings, it's impossible for him to just pop in and Dean has to assume he heard it and hope for the best. He's not that trusting on the best of days, and today is far from his best day.

"Cas, I'm hurt, I need you. I'm at the warehouse about a mile east of town – it's on the list of buildings Sammy and I put together for possible headquarters."

He stops to catch his breath – deep breaths through his nose still, because that bile-metallic taste in his mouth needs to stay where it is. He swallows hard, keeping things together, just long enough to say his piece, just in case.

"It's bad, Cas. I know you and the girls are a couple hours away, it'll probably be too late by the time you get here. I know you knew this was always a risk, but… I would've liked a little more time with you. Take care of Sammy for me."

He feels lousy, sending out a message like that, but he figures he's got maybe ten more minutes of consciousness if he concentrates, and he really, really wants to try and get to his phone.

It buzzes in his pocket – Cas, probably – and that's a small relief. He bends sideways again, ignoring the pain in his arm, ignoring the blood trickling out of his wound, and manages to get his fingers on his phone. It's stuck in his pocket, though, too deep for someone with a broken arm and no fine motor control. It's buzzing again, so Dean sends one last prayer to Cas. "Can't get to the phone, leave a message after the beep."

He's pretty sure the chuckle at the end of it gets sent, too, though probably with mixed messages, since it seems to make his ribs poke sensitive inside parts of himself and he whites out for a few seconds.

_Sorry, Sam. Wish I could've said goodbye, at least. Be good, okay, Sammy? And take care of Cas._

He has to admit, prayer has a certain charm compared to non-existent telepathy. He's starting to get drowsy, which he knows is a bad thing, but he's cold and in pain, and being unconscious while he bleeds to death is suddenly starting to feel like a small kindness. He lets himself lean back against the wall, head dropping to his chest, and closes his eyes.

~~~

~~~

"Sam!" Cas yells before Sam can even say hello. "Your brother is badly injured. You must get to him and stabilize him until I can get there."

Sam has only a second or two of shock – he may get this kind of phone call on a regular basis, but he's never really prepared to hear something like that. "Yeah, okay," he says, ticking through his mental list of places Dean was going to check out. "Did he say where he was?"

"A warehouse on your list, a mile east of town."

"Got it," Sam says, looking at the map and memorizing the route in two seconds. He looks around outside, sizing up the cars and foot traffic to see how long it'll take him to find one he can break into and hotwire. "I'm on the road as soon as I can. How far out are you?"

"Ninety minutes," Cas says. "If I push the car beyond its limits with my grace."

Sam nods thoughtfully. If Cas could get here any sooner, he would, there is no doubt in his mind. "I'll text you the address; come right to the warehouse."

"Be careful, Sam. Whatever injured your brother could still be lurking." 

Cas's concern is touching, if unnecessary. "Of course, Cas. Just hurry."

~~~

Sam jogs several blocks away from the motel before finding a car parked in an empty alley. His hands shake as he tries to jimmy the lock; he takes deep breaths and calms himself. He can't freak out, it will only make him sloppy and he will make costly mistakes. Slow and steady wins the race. He pops the lock and rips open the steering column, a little too much force, but it doesn't hurt anything. As soon as the engine turns over, he's stepping on the gas, getting it to roar to life and throwing it into gear, squealing the tires as he pulls away.

He drives fast and reckless, adrenaline giving him a crystalline clarity that allows him to see around obstacles, and lose the one cop that was unfortunate enough to be on his route. He doesn’t even bother trying to evade – he's going eighty through the middle of a small town, trusting in the emotionless zen that's come over him as he races to his brother. If he knew more magic, he'd probably risk some kind of spell, but while he's proficient enough with spells written by witches, he hasn't spent the time mastering the components, trying to put them together into his own spells. He'll make time to do that, though, if Dean comes out of this okay.

"Hold on, Dean," he says, hoping by some divine intervention, Dean can hear him, or at least know he's on his way. He tried calling first thing, but Dean's not answering his phone. Can't get to it, probably, if he's hurt as bad as Cas thinks. "Just hold on, Dean, I'm coming."

~~~

It only takes six minutes to get to the warehouse, but it feels like a lifetime. Sam inventories the first aid kit in his head – he stocked it before they left the bunker. He wasn't taking any chances with all the women along. He made them mini-kits to keep in their purses, too, which Alex and Claire rolled their eyes at, but took dutifully and tucked into their purses.

He throws the car into park before he's even fully braked, throwing the door open, and picking the lock on the Impala's trunk. He grabs the medical duffel and a machete and runs flat out for the warehouse.

"Dean!" he calls as soon as he's in the space. He's beyond caring if there are monsters – there's nothing that could keep him from his brother now. It may be dangerous for Dean to call for him, but he wants Dean to know he's here, that he's going to fix everything. "Dean!"

There is no sound. The silence presses down on him, terrifying, and he makes his way along the wall of the warehouse, clearing the forward area of the warehouse easily. 

"Dean!" 

He can hear the panic in his voice and takes a deep breath before calling again. "Dean, come on, man!"

He follows the east wall, heading for the back of the warehouse. If he has to go into the aisles and aisles of inventory in the middle, he's fucked. He can only hope that the monsters aren't smart enough to be hiding in there.

There's a brief scraping sound – something metal against the cement floor, Sam's pretty sure.

"Dean?"

He gets about halfway to the back when he sees the first body – decapitated, so vampire's a good guess – and that's all he needs. He follows the trail of bodies and blood, knowing Dean'll be at the end of it. 

Six bodies later, half propped up against one of the office doors, is Dean, looking way too pale underneath all the blood. His eyes are half-open, and there's a wrench on the floor next to him. "Dean!"

Sam crouches next to him, surveying everything as fast as he can. Gut wound, still bleeding, broken arm, maybe a broken rib or two. Probably a concussion, lots of lost blood. 

The gut wound is the worst – it's deep. Probably where Dean lost all the blood, too, unless there's internal bleeding, which... is not something Sam can fix, so he puts it out of his mind. 

Dean moans, softly, a half-hiss that might be Sam's name. "Yeah, Dean, I'm here. I got you. Cas is breaking land speed records on his way here. Just hang in there."

There's a gurgling noise that cannot be good, and Dean turns his head to the side quick enough that Sam's wincing for his concussion. He throws up on his shoulder, a bright bile-colored mess, the stench terribly foul. 

Sam breaks open the med kit and cleans up the mess, pouring some mint oil on a cloth and holding it in front of Dean's nose for a moment before offering him water. Dean swishes and spits, clear of himself this time, and Sam gives him another whiff of the peppermint oil before pushing him down so he can look at the gut wound.

"Gotta sew it up," he says, and Dean stays quiet. He's really pale, and Sam considers for the umpteenth time how to keep Dean's blood on them. It has to be refrigerated, so it's just not a possibility unless they are very conscientious about it.

Sam sighs and starts in on the gut wound. It's deep, well past the muscles. Sam can see Dean's intestines trying to worm their way out. He knows that's really bad, that a puncture in the intestine could mean infection and all kinds of badness, but he has to fix what he can fix, buy Cas time to drive, and hope Cas can heal anything and everything when he gets here.

He threads the needle.

~~~

It only takes about forty minutes for Sam to do absolutely everything he can do for Dean, including stripping off his puked-on shirt and putting his own flannel around Dean's shoulders, buttoning it up with Dean's splinted arm on the inside.

He looks Dean over. He's still touch and go. He's lost a lot of blood, and there's probably internal injuries that could kill him in the thirty or forty minutes it'll take Cas to get here. 

Still, there's nothing else Sam can do, so he sits behind Dean, leaning back against the office door and letting Dean rest against him, and sings.

~~~

~~~

There's a soft, lilting sound to Sam's off-key singing. He sings low, when he can – a rumble deep in his chest that vibrates against Dean's back. It's comforting. Just the smell of Sam nearby is comforting, and Dean turns his head to catch the scent of Sammy as he rests against his brother's chest.

Sam starts petting his hair, light strokes, like he'd pet a cat, and Dean may be dying, but he couldn't ask for a better way to go. He doesn't need any words anymore; now that Sam's here, and he's surrounded by Sam's arms, he knows. He's always known how Sam feels, even when Sam was being a little brat about it. He's fairly certain Sam knows how he feels, too, and it's all right there in the gentle way Sam kisses the top of his head between verses, the way he's bent forward to sing right in Dean's ear, so softly.

He falls asleep somewhere in the middle of a George Strait song he hadn't even realized Sammy knew.

~~~

~~~

Dean falls asleep in his arms, and Sam continues to sing, continues to finger comb Dean's hair, and send up silent prayers. Mostly to God, but some to Cas too. He thinks Cas might appreciate the running commentary.

Sam is so concentrated on feeling the way Dean's chest expands when he breathes that he doesn't even hear Cas come into the warehouse. It takes a second for him to shake himself out of it and call back when Cas calls their names. 

"In the back, Cas!"

Cas comes running full tilt, right up to them, dropping to his knees and placing two fingers on Dean's forehead. 

Sam can feel it immediately. It's easy to see the way the bones of Dean's forearm knit together in the shape of it under Sam's shirt, but it's the way Dean breathes – full and long – that makes Sam's heart soar. He hadn't realized how diminished Dean had become. He doesn't even want to think about how close Dean might have been to death.

"All better?" Sam asks.

"One moment," Cas says, picking up his fingers and replacing them on Dean's carotid. 

"Hey," Dean grouses, and Sam squeezes him tight enough that he makes a sound a little like a squeak.

"Cleaning up his arteries," Cas says. "Your eating habits are abominable, Dean."

Dean huffs out a laugh. "First thing I'm doing when I get out of here is get myself a bacon cheeseburger."

Sam is pretty sure the first thing Dean's going to do is take a shower, and Sam will happily find somewhere to get Dean his grease fix. For the moment, though, he holds onto his brother, feeling him breathe.

~~~

The goodbyes with Donna, Jody, Alex, and Claire are a little stilted. They wrapped the cases – Donna and Jody shut down the Amazons with scary efficiency, and Dean killed the nest of vampires he accidentally stumbled onto – and the women all had to get back on the road to get back to school and jobs, not even a chance to come back to the bunker for one last meal.

"Well, thanks for a good time," Donna says. "Hanging out with you Winchesters is always an adventure."

"We aim to please," Dean answers smoothly. "Next time I think we skip the hunting part and try some more recipes out on you."

"I like that plan," Jody says, coming in for a hug that Sam holds onto for just a little longer than he probably should. "We'll happily be your guinea pigs for that."

They send them on their way and get into the Impala, heading for home.

~~~

~~~

It's only a few hours' drive back to the bunker, and the drive settles Dean more than anything. Usually healing with Cas is instantaneous – nothing but relief from the pain and moving on because what else is there to do? But he was close this time, closer to dying than he's been since that electrocution back in Nebraska. He can feel it, and it sticks with him.

When they get back to the bunker, he unpacks, does laundry, tries to settle in. Sam went straight to bed, exhausted too, Dean's sure – it takes it out of him when Sam nearly dies, so he's sure Sam's wiped. 

He and Cas never put a TV in their room. He figured they always have better things to do, and it's held true so far, but right now, he doesn't want sex. He wants to curl up around Cas, and have something to do so it won't feel weird. He doesn't want to go out to the couch, either – the bunker echoes and it would probably wake Sam. 

"Are you okay?" Cas asks, knowing Dean's not, but giving him the out anyway. Cas has adapted to their communication style surprisingly quickly, all things considered.

"Not really," Dean answers, not sure if he can talk about it. It's not a concrete feeling, just this nebulous unease that he can't shake off. 

Cas nods. "Sam prayed to me too, you know."

Shit – if there's one thing Dean doesn't want to discuss, it's whatever pathetic, maudlin thing he said to Cas in his prayers. He's a little curious to know what Sam might have prayed, but it's probably under a seal of confidence, like the confessional.

Dean shrugs, trying to seem uninterested. "Probably giving you a play-by-play, huh?"

"Yes." Cas takes a breath and hesitates. Dean wonders if he can shake whatever he's holding back loose without making it too obvious. "And?"

"And he expressed regret." 

Dean nods, keeping his acknowledgements short and unobtrusive. Besides, what's there to say to that? Regret is roughly fifty percent of what Winchesters feel on a regular basis. He has regrets too, every day.

"Why can you two not say those things to each other?"

Dean shrugs. "We don't need to, mostly. We know."

Cas shakes his head. "Knowing and hearing it are two different things. One is an understanding based on your own perceptions; the other is an acknowledgement of things you can only truly guess at, no matter how strongly you feel it."

Dean knows. He knows those sparing few comments from his dad were worth years of proud backslaps and enigmatic smiles. There's nothing to say, though, he was practically unconscious for most of the time Sam was there, and talking about that stuff after the fact just makes it even more awkward. Usually they show it after, hanging out together, staying on the couch until they fall asleep on the couch, close enough to touch.

It's nice, having the bunker as a home base, but there are definitely some parts of life on the road that Dean misses.

He wonders if maybe Sam is still awake. He gets up and opens the door, listening for the low murmur of Sam's cooking shows on the TV. He's not surprised when he hears it, and he catches Cas's eyes and tilts his head toward the hallway. Cas scrambles across the bed, climbing out of it with an ungainly lurch, and follows Dean out of their room. 

When Dean makes it to Sam's room, he's not surprised to see Sam staring at the TV with glassy eyes, splayed out on the bed, like he's trying to fill up all the empty spaces. It takes a second for him to even realize Dean and Cas are here, but as soon as he does, he sits up a little, a questioning look on his face.

"Can't sleep?" Dean asks, and Sam nods. 

"We could join you," Cas says, though it sounds more like a question than the statement he probably meant it to be.

"Yeah," Sam says, scooting over. Dean hurries over to the bed – he doesn't think Cas would put himself in the middle, but he doesn't want to take the chance. He tries sitting up next to Sam, but he's tired and slides halfway down the wall by the time Cas climbs in on his other side. 

Normally he'd curl up around Cas; he sleeps on his side mostly these days, and it's comfortable. But what he really wants is Sam's attention, and presenting his back is hardly the way to do that. It's been a while since Sam's had to take care of him, and he forgets what it feels like, being on the receiving end of that kind of attention. He shifts just a little, tilts his body into Sam's, nudges his head against Sam's arm until he lifts it and lets Dean rest against his chest. 

There's nowhere for Sam to put his arm, though, so he wraps it around Dean's back, and Cas curls around Dean for a change. Cas says something to Sam that Dean can't quite process, something that makes Sam laugh once, a clear, bright sound. Dean smiles against Sam's chest.

It only takes a moment for Dean to drift off, feeling warm and safe and for once, not a thought of taking care of anybody but himself.

~~~


	57. Another Look Unlimited Day

~~~

Sam stares down at Dean, nestled up against his chest, looking like a small child. It's been years since he's had to take care of Dean like this, since the last near-death experience (it's just been death experiences, which are bad enough, but not the same), and he's forgotten just how breathtaking it is to have this kind of trust from his brother.

He's forgotten his brother might need this kind of assurance. 

But then, curled up behind Dean is Cas, and Sam has always thought that Cas provided that sort of comfort to Dean, if he ever needed it. Maybe they don't work like that. Maybe Dean needs this specifically from Sam. The thought makes him smile. 

It makes him reconsider… everything. He forgot what it's like to be needed. Really needed, like Dean rarely ever does. And Dean had Cas – Sam heard them in their room before they showed up at his door – but he wanted Sam. 

Sam's heart starts amping up; this is starting to feel dangerous, and he can't let his imagination run away with him. He needs to protect himself. 

Still, he looks down at Dean, sleeping, breathing evenly, and curled up in a tight little ball, and the longing he feels is intense. He really wants Dean to need him this way. It's only one of the ways he wants his brother to need him, but it's the most satisfying. 

Dean always takes care of him; he's gotten used to always leaning on him a little. But Dean almost never lets himself go like this. Sam used to try to crack that shell, and when he was younger, sometimes it worked. Not for a while now, though. Dean's always in control, Dean never needs anyone, Dean takes care of everything. It must've been closer than even Sam'd realized for Dean to let go like this and let Sam make him feel safe.

And that reminds him of Cas. His relationship with Cas has shifted some over the last few months, but Sam's original… whatever… with Cas was exactly this. Cas can make him feel safe and protected, and he is slightly in awe of Cas all the time. 

He can sort of turn off the way he sees Cas's celestial body, but every once in a while he'll be unprepared and walk in on Cas, his wings folded up demurely behind him, and he can't help gaping. 

But if anyone can make Dean feel safe, it should be Cas. Why doesn't it work like that for them? Has Dean really forgotten what Cas is? Why is it Sam he turns to for this? Shouldn't it be Cas that he lets his guard down with?

The questions chase themselves around his brain with no good answers. Obviously Cas is a comfort to Dean. Sam's seen that between them a million times, even before they got together. But there's a missing piece there, and… apparently it's Sam.

His breathing is starting to get erratic too, now, and he closes his eyes to stave off an anxiety attack. Dean needs him right now, he can't freak out, he can't run. He really, really wants to, though, and he can't get the feeling to go away, even knowing that he's not likely to get another chance to do this for Dean.

"Sam?" Cas murmurs over Dean's heavy breathing. "Why is your heart beating so fast?"

Sam chuckles under his breath. Of course Cas noticed his racing heart. He sips in air, trying to fill his lungs so he can speak. "Panic attack," he says. 

"Do you need something? Should I move Dean?"

"No," Sam says. The thought of Dean being pulled away from him right now just makes everything worse. "No, leave Dean. I've got him."

"Okay," Cas says, scooting up the bed. "What can I do for you, then?"

Sam just shakes his head. He can't concentrate when he's like this, much less come up with ways for Cas to help. He's spending all his energy on keeping it together.

Cas strokes his hair, brushing it back and tucking it behind his ear, and Sam feels everything shift gears, like going into slow motion. Suddenly getting a full lungful of air is easy, a low, deep inhale as Cas rubs his knuckles over Sam's jaw, and drops his hand onto Sam's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. 

Once he's caught his breath once, everything slips back into place – his heart slows back to normal and his brain stops with the constant questions like a hamster wheel and he breathes, slow and deep, and watches Dean's head go up and down with each breath. 

He'll never be 100% sure that Cas didn't use some mojo on him, but he's okay with that, because he drifts, Dean a warm weight on his side and Cas a reassuring presence in his bed. Try as he might, as he finally slides into sleep, he can't quite remember why this isn't the way things are supposed to be.

~~~


	58. National Feel the Love Day

~~~

Dean's never been one of those people who wakes up slowly, or doesn't know where he is, or is weirdly half-asleep for an hour. Maybe it's always waking up somewhere new, but he just wakes up at full attention, knowing where he is and what he's got to do for the day.

So, he doesn't open his eyes when he wakes up, curled around Sam, with Cas curled around his back. He knows where he is. He knows who he's with, and he knows why. 

Sam's still half-upright, and Dean's slipped down so his head on is Sam's stomach, his arm flung across Sam's hips. If it'd been Cas, Dean would've already taken advantage, mouthing the soft skin so close to his lips, but this is Sam. There is a chasm between what he theoretically understands is the endgame here and what he can actually do with his body in relation to Sam's right now.

Dean realizes with a clarity he usually only gets before he does something really stupid and life-threatening that respecting Sam's boundaries is just ammunition for Sam's self-doubt. Dean abiding by the limits Sam insisted on has shown Sam exactly what his place is supposed to be – this close, no closer. 

It stings a little, that Sam expects Dean to break the rules, and that if he doesn't, he doesn't mean it. That Dean could never, would never, try to do what Sam wanted just because Sam asked. But if he's brutally honest with himself, and ouch, that's enough to skin him raw, he never does respect Sam's rules or boundaries. He always does what he thinks is best, Sam's wishes be damned. 

And in this case? He's right to do it. Because Sam will always tell himself Dean doesn't want him unless Dean absolutely shows him he does. What Sam needs is a declaration.

Dean can feel the butterflies. It was easy to tease Sam with physical contact because somehow, he expected Sam would be the one to break. Sam would turn around and make the first move, and Dean would just smirk in that knowing way. But Sam won't break – Sam has proven that he won't break, time and time again, and if Dean pushes him, they'll be stuck picking up the pieces and nothing will ever fit right between them. 

No, he has to _pull_ Sam. Mold him, not break him. Press him into the spaces between Dean and Cas and show him how he fits, perfectly, just the way he is. 

It feels like his whole body is trembling. Dean's never been nervous about sex before, not since he was a teenager and new to all of it. He's never worried about rejection (their loss) or screwing something up (it's just sex). 

This is terrifying. 

He decides to do what comes naturally – if it'd been Cas he was curled around, he'd just get his mouth on the little patch of skin that's _right there_ , so he does, and he can feel Sam jump at the contact.

Sam hisses, "Dean!" under his breath. Quietly, Dean knows, because he's trying not to wake Cas. What Sam doesn't know is Cas is awake. Cas is always awake. Cas doesn't sleep. He may meditate or something, but Dean's never woken up without Cas being fully present, there at his side, at least half the time knowing Dean wants something.

Cas knows exactly what Dean's doing, and he has nothing to say about it. Dean's not worried; that's just the way Cas is. He knows Cas thinks Dean is trying too hard to turn their relationship into something it's not, but Cas is willing to go with whatever Dean decides about their relationship and Sam's place in it. 

Dean doesn't worry that he's crossing some line that shouldn't be crossed with Cas. He knows whatever happens between them, they'll work it out. It's one of the few things in his life he has unshakeable faith in.

So Cas knows what he's doing. Cas is feigning sleep, just like Dean is. Cas will probably continue to feign sleep until Dean makes a real move. Better get a move on, then.

Dean takes the arm that's draped over Sam and tucks it in, getting a handful of Sam's opposite hip. Sam bucks up into it, surprised or turned on, Dean's not sure. He's not looking. 

"Dean!" 

That whisper again, like he's not sure whether or not he wants to wake Dean up; whether or not he wants Dean to keep going. Dean knows which way it's going to go, so he just smiles to himself and lets Sam's warring impulses goad him on.

He lets the weight of his arm settle on Sam, his forearm right across the cradle of Sam's hips, putting pressure on his dick.

Sam's hard. That tilts everything back right side up – it's been so long since Dean's been in bed with someone whose body reacts to him like that. He lets his mouth roam, tasting more of Sam's skin – somehow familiar, despite the completely new circumstance. 

He drags his hand across, gets a palmful of Sam's dick – huge, of course, just like Sam – and smiles at the way Sam expels a rush of air. Dean's forgotten how much he loves this. Loves playing someone else's body like an instrument, getting them hot and bothered. He breathes on the patch of skin he's been mouthing and the muscles of Sam's stomach twitch. Dean smiles against his skin. Suddenly this is easy. It's familiar, these moves, this seduction, and the fact that it's Sam is a little strange, but not completely overwhelming. He's imagined this a hundred times in his fantasies, after all, though it's usually Cas in his place and Dean taking a back seat, watching.

Sam is trembling now, and Dean has another moment of clarity. He can't pretend he's asleep. He can't give Sam (or himself) that out – he needs Sam to know he's doing this with intent. With purpose. He can't let Sam think it's just some sleepy mistake.

He takes a deep breath and looks up at Sam, not surprised to see Sam's head tilted back and his eyes closed, his hands in tight fists at his sides. There's a sudden stab of guilt – by taking the easy way out, he's forced Sam into making the choice of whether or not to stop things, and that's just cruel. Fuck, sometimes he's such a coward, and it's always Sam that ends up cleaning after Dean's emotional messes.

He takes one last taste of Sam's skin, getting his fingers around Sam's dick, and whispering, "Sammy."

Sam's eyes snap open and he looks straight at Dean for a half-second. Dean stares back, doesn't blink – lets Sam know that Dean's doing this on purpose, he wants this, he wants Sam.

"Fuck," Sam says, realization showing up in his eyes just before he tilts his head back again and comes in Dean's hand. 

Dean would be smug about that, but Cas chooses that moment to give up on feigning sleep, reaching around to worm a hand into Dean's jeans. His other hand is on Dean's ass – a little awkwardly, but still, cupping him and pressing hard. If there's one thing Dean can say about Cas as a lover, it's that he knows every button of Dean's and where to push.

They've done everything they can do with the natural limits of Cas's body. There are toys, and Cas has a deft hand, but it's not the same. Just the possibility of sex with someone who can stay hard the whole time is enough for Dean's eyes to roll back in his head and make him to come in his jeans like a goddamn teenager.

So much for being smug. Cas should probably be smug, but he doesn't have it in him.

When Dean opens his eyes again, Sam is staring down at him, where Cas's hand is in the front of his jeans. His eyes dart around, taking in all the random points of interest before coming back to Dean's face. Dean meets Sam's eyes, just waiting for Sam to make a move. He thinks he knows what it is, and he knows that what he's going to have to do next is scarier than anything he's done so far this morning.

He can feel Sam's muscles go rigid, like he's going to try to get away from them. He prepares himself for a fight. 

"Don't," Dean says, and the pleading look Sam turns on him is heartbreaking, but Dean has to go through with it. "Stay."

"Dean–"

"Don't leave, Sammy, please. Please stay."

Sam tilts his head back, staring at the ceiling, and shakes his head. "I can't."

"Yes you can," Cas says, and Dean wishes he could do something to show Cas how grateful he is for that comment, but his arms are full of his brother, and he's going to need every ounce of strength to keep Sam from running.

"This isn't about _you_ anymore," Dean says, rushing the words out because Sam's still coiled tight, ready to spring off the bed. "This isn't about you going off by yourself and fixing something. This is about us, about making us work. And I want my say."

"Dean," Sam says, still staring up at the ceiling. Dean never realized that Sam avoids looking at him just as much as he avoids looking at Sam. How had he never noticed that Sam is terrified, too?

Sam makes his move, getting his hands on Dean's arms and trying to slide out from underneath. "No," Dean says, "Sam, no!"

They wrestle for a minute, but Dean's at a disadvantage, being halfway down Sam's body with Cas on top of him. If Cas could grab some piece of Sam and use his angel strength, they could easily win, but Cas would never do that.

Sam gets out from under him and Dean throws himself out of bed, getting up right up in Sam's face. 

Sam flinches away from him and Dean's heart breaks. Sam's done that a couple times, especially lately when Dean tries to keep him from running. "Sorry," Sam says, and Dean's heart breaks all over again.

"Sam," Cas says. He's out of bed, coming up on the pair of them with his palms up, like they're wounded animals. Maybe they are.

"I believe Dean would simply like the opportunity to provide counterarguments to the ones you use to convince yourself you don't belong here. With us."

It's way more eloquent than Dean's argument, and roughly equivalent. He lets Cas speak for him and stands his ground. 

"I can't."

Part of Dean wonders what Sam would do if they tied him up and forced him to stay. Clam up, probably, go catatonic and keep everything locked up inside. 

"You can."

Cas is stubborn in a few very particular ways, ones that complement Dean, and this is one of them. Sam doesn't know how to push Cas's buttons. If Sam really wants to leave, he knows the exact arguments to piss Dean off enough to walk away – just to cool down, but all Sam needs is the tiniest window of opportunity. Cas doesn't do that. He never walks away, he never backs down if he really believes in something, and Dean has to hope he believes in this, and he will wear Sam down eventually.

"Cas, please," Sam says. "I will just wreck everything."

Cas puts a hand on Dean's arm, which is just enough to keep him from saying what he was thinking. Sometimes Sam gets the weirdest ideas about himself, and Dean doesn't even know it until Sam comes out and says something fucked up like this.

"I've already told you, you cannot break this. You cannot break me, or your brother, the relationship we have with each other, or the one we have with you. It is an impossibility. You don't have to accept this relationship or these terms, but you can no longer use that as your argument."

Sam's eyes had been darting around the room – planning an escape, probably – but at Cas's declaration, they stop, and something shifts in his stance. He takes a long look at Cas, and then at Dean, and then sort of at the floor. Dean calls that look Sam's idiot face – slack because he's turned his thoughts inward so hard that his body is on autopilot. Asleep on his feet, practically.

"Okay," Sam says finally, "I'll stay."

"And we're going to talk this out," Dean adds, because he's done playing avoid-the-elephant-in-the-room. 

Sam nods. "And talk it out. But I need a little space." He puts a finger up at Dean's noise of protest. "A little. A shower. To gather my thoughts."

Dean's fairly certain it's a trick, and the last thing he wants is to get this far and Sam to slip through his fingers. But this new relationship needs trust, too, and he can't think he's going to have an honest conversation with his brother if he has to loom over him like a prison guard.

"Fine. A shower. I'll make breakfast."

~~~


	59. Salami Day

~~~

Castiel watches the Winchesters go their separate ways. Dean first to his room to clean up, then to the kitchen to cook off his stress and nerves, and Sam to the bathroom to… drown his self-doubt perhaps.

He follows Dean to start. Castiel is proud of Dean's sudden forward momentum with regard to their triumvirate. He is equally proud of the insightful way he understood Sam's hesitation and his own convoluted place in Sam's mental machinations. 

Dean's concern is more that he won't get to say his piece than what his piece _is_. Castiel knows that when the time comes to actually speak, Dean's familiar distrust of words will rear its head, but he is comfortable assisting Dean in this way. Being the translator of Dean's intent is satisfying.

He lets his presence calm Dean, and as Dean starts to cook in earnest, Castiel slips away to check on Sam. He understands that showers are generally private (despite the communal showers in the bunker), and normally he would honor that privacy, but Dean is not the only one with concerns about Sam running away. He changes his resonance frequency and enters the shower room invisible to human eyes. 

Sam is under the spray, his body still as stone, his mind like a dog chasing its tail. Castiel could read the words in Sam's mind as he argues to himself, but that's one step further in the breach of privacy than he's comfortable with. He settles for absorbing the emotions and intent of Sam's thoughts. He could not block those out without a great deal of effort, so it is the path of least resistance.

Mostly it is fear and hope, each inextricably linked with the other, the hope growing like a thick vine, and the fear threading around it, thin but strong, choking off the hope at every turn. 

The whirlwind of thought in Sam's mind stops suddenly, surprise and shock evident in his emotions. Castiel can't see anything that might have caused that reaction, but Sam moves, first a change in his mental landscape, something that brings him out of the spiral of his thoughts, and then a change to his physical landscape, resting his shoulders against the shower pole and adjusting the spray so it sluices down his body.

Castiel has not yet had any sexual thoughts about Sam, as Sam has never shown interest and Castiel really only responds to such ideas from Dean, he doesn't initiate them on his own. He understands that Dean's sexual landscape is vast and occasionally features other people, including his brother, though that usually makes Dean uncomfortable. Castiel has had other sexual experiences and thoughts, even as an angel, but they were extremely rare and almost always a surprise.

It is impossible not to think of Sam as a sexual being when he is like this, though, relaxed and comfortable, his thoughts suddenly not erratic or hurried, but lush and sensual.

Castiel has learned the entirety of Dean's body, his multitude of reactions and needs, the shape of it in various acts. Sam's is similar but not even close to the same. Even just in musculature, with Sam's longer limbs and torso. There are similarities in the amount of muscle they carry, where they carry it. Sam is more defined than Dean, probably due more to diet than anything. Truth be told, Castiel enjoys Dean's soft places. It means things have been easier lately. Dean has no soft places when things are difficult.

Sam's own lack of softness makes Castiel wonder if things have been difficult for him. Maybe more than Dean or Castiel could see; maybe Sam's own mind or experiences make everyday life more difficult for Sam than they can understand. There is enough evidence in his own experiences with Sam to support that theory. It makes him unaccountably sad.

Not for long, however, because Sam does something he has never thought of. He slides his hand over his skin, starting at his breastbone and slowly trailing down his torso, until he takes his penis in hand.

Castiel has never asked for anything sexual from Dean, but angels aren't known for their creativity, and while he has done his research about human mating and sexual rituals, this is not something he would have thought useful. Seeing Sam now, understanding how Sam invokes his own pleasure… well. He might have asked for this from Dean, if he'd known it was a possibility. He would like to know the way Dean pleasures himself.

Sam's head is tipped back, his mouth slightly open, and with this one simple display, Castiel understands the idea of lust. He has had such moments before, mostly with Dean, but they are often fleeting, no more than a spark that is extinguished almost immediately by curiosity or simply the desire to give Dean what he is asking for.

Sam is not only pleasuring himself physically, his mental and emotional landscapes are rich and concentrated, everything working in concert. He feels surrounded by Sam's pleasure, all of his senses, angel and human, attuned to Sam in a way he has never experienced with Dean. 

Castiel has always felt strongly _about_ Dean. He has hopes and fears and desires where Dean is concerned, and Castiel chooses his words and actions in relation to Dean. 

Castiel has always felt strongly _with_ Sam. There is a strange resonance between them that Castiel has never quite been able to pin down, and Castiel has never chosen his words or actions in relation to Sam, but rather in harmony with Sam. 

If pressured, Castiel would still say he and Dean have more depth and layers to their relationship, despite all the momentum he has worked so hard on with Sam. But he and Sam share something intangible, some indefinable compatibility that is the basis for the work they have done on their relationship so far.

The compatibility is what echoes now, Sam's enjoyment enveloping Castiel and holding him captive to its intensity. Sam has an unusually persistent ability to concentrate, especially for a human, and his concentration is almost like a black hole, drawing in those nearest him when he is focused on whatever is at hand.

Suddenly there are images in the snarl of sensations, and Castiel recognizes scenes from only moments ago, Sam's emotions tangled up around them, around Dean's advances and Castiel taking advantage of the situation. There is a fair portion of lust, and even the other emotions – shame, embarrassment, self-censure – stoke those fires. 

The images are crystal clear – again a testament to Sam's concentration – and Castiel can feel himself responding to the emotions he feels from Sam about them. The physical pleasure is what ties it together, and the emotions swell toward a physical resolution. 

It occurs to Castiel that Sam seems to have no hesitation about the potential physical part of their relationship – the only part that gives Dean pause. Dean is confident in all the other aspects of their relationship, but the taboo around incest weighs more heavily on him. Sam does not seem to be concerned with those taboos, but is also unsure of his place in the emotional landscape of their combined relationships. 

He reaches out to Sam – only a little, not so much he might give himself away – and presses a thought in next to the lust that surrounds his mental pictures. It is simply love, the vast and unending love that is the potentiality of all love, the one that is all-consuming and impossible to constrain. This love underscores the way the Winchesters love each other, but they are still human and can't help the limits they put on it. Castiel is not human, however, and he loves them both with the constancy of a being meant to be eternal.

Sam responds almost immediately, an orgasm overtaking him and wracking his body with spasms. He does not speak, but Castiel hears Dean's name in Sam's mind, and moment after, his own name, too.

It doesn't occur to him until that moment that this is the very breach of privacy he had meant to avoid; his original intent had simply to be able to track Sam, should he run. He had been drawn into Sam's fantasy without any thought, however, and it is only now, as Sam comes back to himself, that he understands he should have left.

He starts to back away, heading toward the entrance to the showers, when he hears Sam chuckle, a low, delighted sound. 

"Enjoy the show, Cas?"

~~~


	60. Neither Rain Nor Snow Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE!!! Please note there are some warnings on this chapter. These include: mentions of torture, rape, and mindfuckery/paranoia (as part of the torture). This is dark, please email me if you need vetting for your triggers: kisahawklin at gmail.

~~~

Dean's nearly done with the gravy when Sam walks in, smiling brightly, which is unexpected, but not nearly as unexpected as Cas following him, looking grumpier than Dean's ever seen him. He can't decide if Cas looks pissed off, ashamed, or just plain cranky.

"What's up?" he asks, checking on the biscuits. They smell great, but a quick look in the oven says they need a minute or two to get to golden brown.

"Nothing," Sam says, still grinning hugely. "I'm starving. What'd you make?"

"Biscuits and gravy," Dean says, his mouth on autopilot while he tries to figure out what the hell happened here. He's been ready to throw up this whole time, his brain going round and round with figuring out what words he might need to say, what assurances Sam needs and how to get them out there in a way Sam will believe.

But Sam is here, happy and smiling, and he doesn't look like he's planning on going anywhere soon, so… what? Is he just on board and that's it, they're going to act like this was the endgame all along and Sam wasn't being a little bitch? Or – more likely – is Sam going to pretend nothing happened and go back to acting like he's a third wheel that Dean and Cas occasionally let sit in the front seat?

Dean's not quite willing to push the subject yet, but he knows there's a story here, and he wants to know what's making Sam smile like that.

"What'd you do?" Dean asks, tilting his head toward Cas when Sam looks up at him.

Sam laughs. "Caught Cas being a peeping Tom and taught him a lesson."

"I was not being a…" 

Dean has to work hard not to laugh. There are certain phrases that Cas simply doesn't like and will sometimes refuse to say, particularly if they're meant to be about him.

"Peeping Tom, Cas, and yes, you were."

"No," Cas insists, and Dean leans down to drop a kiss on the top of Cas's grumpy head before going to pull the biscuits out of the oven. "I was only there to be sure you wouldn't run."

"And I was in the shower. Peeping Tom, Cas."

Cas mumbles something that Dean can't quite catch, but it wipes the smile off of Sam's face, finally. Dean finds he misses it when the doubt comes back. Man, he just wants to find ways to keep Sam smiling like that forever.

"What was that?"

"I said, Sam shouldn't have been able to see me. I did not want to make him uncomfortable."

Dean laughs. "Doesn't seem like he was the one who was uncomfortable." He turns to Sam. "How did you see him, though?"

That was definitely the thing that wiped the smile off Sam's face, because he's back to avoiding Dean's eyes and clearing his throat, which he only ever does right before he intends to lie, and mumbles something that's just as clear as mud.

"Come again?"

Sam glances at Dean and then sets his eyes back on the table like he can drill through it with his x-ray vision. "I can see Cas's…" He looks up at Cas and swallows. 

"Cas's what?"

Cas stands, slowly, and with purpose. Dean loves Cas, and it's impossible to forget that he's not quite human, but it is possible to forget that he's an angel, and that he has a hell of a lot of raw power in him.

Sam gasps and shifts away from Cas, his mouth dropping open. Dean looks back and forth between them but he can't see whatever the hell is going on.

"Cas's _what?_ " Dean asks, trying not to sound hysterical. Cas is standing, leaning toward Sam, super scary concentration face, and Sam is leaning away from Cas, looking at Cas with… awe, maybe.

"My celestial form," Cas says.

Sam sighs out a breath, his eyes shifting back and forth, Cas, to the side, Cas, to the other side… 

"Your wings?" Dean feels a deep pang of jealousy. He's only ever seen Cas's wings when Cas has purposely shown them to him, and even then, only in shadow.

"Yes," Sam whispers. "And his… grace? I guess?"

Cas is still leaning forward intently – a little scarily, if Dean's honest, though Sam doesn't seem scared, he seems starstruck. "Cas, man, back off."

Cas shakes it off, puts away the divine presence like putting a winter coat in storage. Dean blinks a couple times. He might not be able to see Cas's wings, but he can _feel_ them just fine.

He wants to ask Sam how long he's been able to see Cas's true form. It can't have been since he cage – he would've said. Gadreel, maybe. There was that whole thing with the leftover grace, and that's when Sam and Cas's friendship changed.

"So you taught him a lesson, huh," Dean says as he goes back to the gravy, trying to regain some of Sam's easy good humor of a few moments ago.

Sam's lost, though, He's staring down at the table, concentration inward. His brain's going a million miles an hour, Dean's sure. This is the kind of awkward uncomfortableness Dean'd expected.

He plates up the biscuits and gravy, hoping food can snap Sam out of it. Sometimes that works, and Dean is desperate for this not to go as badly as he's been picturing in his head for the last half an hour.

"Eat up," Dean says, setting plates down in front of Cas and Sam. He putters around a little as he serves up his own plate, waiting to hear if the mood is going to shift. He'd hate to have cooked for nothing.

"Mmm," Sam moans, and that is exactly what Dean was waiting for. Sam is surprisingly mercurial with his moods – and Dean knows he does it on purpose sometimes, but it never ceases to amaze him how Sam's fake mood very quickly becomes his real mood. It's never worked like that for Dean, and he's always envied Sam that talent.

"Dean, this gravy is fantastic."

Dean does a little bow as he joins them at the table. It is pretty good, if he does say so himself.

"Perhaps you _should_ open a restaurant," Cas says, and Dean laughs, ready to dismiss the idea with a joke, but Sam's brow is furrowed, like he's maybe taking the suggestion seriously.

"Come on," Dean says, pointing his fork at Sam. "What makes you think we'd have a snowball's chance in hell of making a restaurant work?"

Sam makes his not-really-a-frown and says, "We know how to work hard. We both love food."

"We work hard at hunting," Dean says, though now that the seed is planted, he's having a tough time ripping it up. He can't imagine retiring, exactly, just laying low forever. But retiring to something that is theirs, something where they still can see people's smiles when they've done a good job… It's appealing, Dean has to admit.

Sam shrugs. He can see the idea's taken hold with Sam, too. Ideas do that with Sam, grab him and grow like weeds until they take him over and the next thing Dean knows, there are flow charts and footnotes. He smiles and lets the idea simmer in the back of his own mind, fully expecting to come up on Sam poring over real estate or professional kitchen appliances in a couple weeks.

"So that means you'll stick around," Dean says, because they've skirted around the issue long enough. If they have to have this conversation, he wants to get it over with. "No more running."

Sam meets Dean's eyes. His face is calm, like it is when he's made a decision. Dean can only hope it's the one he wants. "You have to know I was never going to leave you – even without…" Sam shrugs again, his way of not saying the words. It's comforting, actually – Dean's always been lousy with words, but when they're hard for Sam, too, he feels better about it. Validated, he think Sam would say.

"No," Dean answers honestly for once. He knows Sam loves him, but he doesn't really trust that Sam will be around forever anymore. He's always felt like Sam's had one foot out the door, and Dean has never let himself believe that Sam would be there forever. He wants it, but it kills him worse every time he thinks they've settled into something good and then he finds Sam researching colleges. "I'm sorry," he says, because he can see the surprise and hurt on Sam's face. "I don’t let myself believe that anymore. Not one hundred percent, anyway."

Sam frowns, looks down at the table. "Yeah. I get it. You're protecting yourself." Dean tilts his head, half an acknowledgement. "Well, I'm doing the same thing."

"Bullshit," Dean says. He understands protecting yourself. He does it, too, but at some point you have to believe that family won't hurt you like that.

"No," Sam says calmly, and it's just enough to really start Dean's blood boiling. 

"Yes, Sam," Dean says, his teeth ground tightly together. "There's nothing here you need protecting from."

Cas puts a hand on Dean's arm, and Dean has to clench his fists to keep himself from shaking Cas off. This is bullshit, this is Sam's weird mental crap that's keeping him from seeing straight. 

"Sam," Cas says, his voice calm and grounding, and Dean involuntarily relaxes a little. "I think what Dean means is that he would never intentionally hurt you, and if you think either he or I might unintentionally hurt you, we would ask you to tell us how, so we can mitigate that."

Sam looks longingly at his plate and takes one more bite. Dean knows what that means, so he scarfs down a couple of mouthfuls, too. Cas looks confused, but takes a bite of his own dish as well, and a sip of coffee to wash it down. Dean glances at the coffee – Cas fixes it up different every time, and today it's looking almost black.

They all push their plates to the middle of the table and Sam looks down at the table intently, like he's laying his arguments out on it. Dean doesn't know how to read that; he can tell there's some debate going on in Sam's brain, but he can't fight against words Sam isn't saying.

"You have to tell us," Dean says. "Whatever crap is going through your head _right now_ , you have to say it. Out loud. I can't fight blind, here."

"Dean," Sam says, his eyes pleading. Dean doesn't know what else he can give Sam – he can't give Sam what he needs if Sam won't tell him what that is. He doesn't know Sam's internal arguments anymore – hasn't probably since before Sam left for college. He can't navigate these waters without Sam's help.

"None of that," Dean says, dismissing Sam's puppy dog eyes with a flick of his hand. "You're not weaseling your way out of this. You tell us what's going on up there, or…"

There isn't any "or," though. Sam has to do it, it's the only way through. If Sam clams up now, this will just keep replaying itself until they get here again. 

"I can read your thoughts, if that helps," Cas says, and Dean keeps his face dead neutral at that thought. He knows Cas can read minds, with varying degrees of creep factor, but he's never quite sure how he feels about it. "I can say the things you can't put words to."

Sam swallows hard, looking up at Cas, his eyes flicking around Cas, presumably to his celestial body. "Yeah," Sam says. "If you can do it from over there." 

He can feel the confusion in Cas – it's a tension in his muscles that makes him feel like he's going to spring. "Of course, Sam."

Sam sighs out his breath hard, and looks up at them. "I break everything I touch."

Dean's heard those words before – not in relation to Sam, he doesn't think, but they sound vaguely familiar. 

"If I…" 

It's a short stumble, so Cas doesn't speak, and Sam picks up again. "If I accept… this… then…"

Sam looks up at Cas, his eyes pleading again. Cas nods and leans forward across the table, covering half the distance to Sam and staring intently. "You believe that you will not only not be able to fit in yourself, you will somehow break us apart – or break one or the other of us."

That doesn't make any sense to Dean. He understands that people have irrational fears, but he has more than enough rational fears in his life. He can't understand making up stuff like that to be afraid of when there are literal monsters, heaven and hell and everything in between to be afraid of. "I don't –"

"Wait," Cas says, and Dean shuts his mouth and waits.

"Sam, there are no concrete ways in which things would break. So how are you so sure things will break if you cannot even picture the way in which it will happen?"

Cas's eyes flutter shut and his eyes move under his eyelids like he's dreaming. "Jess, Madison, Ruby, Brady –" 

"Stop," Dean says. "Sam, we're not them. Can't you see that? We're family, we're stronger than that."

"Dean," Cas says, his voice hushed. "He is picturing your mother."

"Sammy," Dean says, getting up to go over to him. Sam backs away, puts his arms up. 

Dean clenches his fists and forces himself to take several deep breaths before sitting back down. "I'm sorry," Sam says. 

That's about the last thing Dean _ever_ wants an apology for. "Sam, Cas told you already – you can't break us. That's not an excuse anymore."

"You can't guarantee that," Sam says, and Cas shrugs.

"Not in the way you are thinking, no." Cas writes something complicated in the air, and the sigils on the backs of their hands glow. "But I can guarantee that if you chose to leave, or to remove yourself from this bond, we would be permanently altered. You don't have to be involved with us romantically or sexually if you do not wish, but your actions lead me to think that you would like that but are simply holding yourself back out of fear."

Dean holds his breath. Cas has just laid out their entire argument in clear, obvious logic. If Sam can't see it, then… Fuck it, he reaches across the table, trying to grab any piece of Sam he can, trying to shake some sense into him. Sam flinches back, and Dean snaps.

"Why?" Dean asks. "Why do you flinch? You think I'm going to hit you?"

Sam smiles sadly, and Dean knows he's hit Sam before – hell, they've beat the shit out of each other before – but only when one of them isn't in their right mind. He hates that Sam is afraid of him.

"I flinch because if you touched me, I'd never be able to say no."

It takes a second to process that statement. Does he really touch Sam so little that it's that overwhelming when it happens? He thought they'd been getting over that. He doesn't even know what to say in response, he just stares at Sam. He wants to reach out, but the time for Dean to influence Sam is over. Sam has to make the decision now, and this is it. He can feel it, the sharpness to the air, the way that this decision is the one that will change everything or close that door forever. But it's not his decision, and he no longer has his biggest arsenal – touch – to help him. Just words, and he sucks at those.

"I want you to say yes, Sammy," Dean says, keeping his hands on the table, loose. "But it's up to you. If you gotta say no, then you say no. But I want to know why."

Cas shifts, moving just a little closer to Dean, their thighs touching. It's a comfort, and Dean tries to focus on the fact that he'll always have Cas. It's not everything he wants, but it's enough to get by.

Sam closes his eyes, a particular kind of inward focus, and when he opens them again, Cas looks annoyed. Must have brought down his mental warding. Dean would say that's completely unfair, but it's probably more unfair that they used Cas's mind-reading in the first place.

Sam is calm again, the scary sort of calm he gets when he's trying to keep Dean from going over the edge. Dean doesn't like it.

"I can't say yes," Sam says, his voice steady but quiet, "because I can't be sure this is real." 

Cas's hand, which had been somewhere under the table, grips Dean's thigh and squeezes, almost enough to hurt. Dean's just as surprised; Sam has never let on that he was having this kind of trouble, not since way back before he lost his mind completely.

"What?" Dean asks, and he can feel the menace in his voice, but he can't help it. When he gets scared like this, he goes on the offensive.

"Do you have any idea how many lifetimes I've lived?" Sam asks. Cas's grip on his thigh tightens, and Dean has to pry Cas's fingers off before he gets bruises. Cas shifts his iron grip to Dean's hand, and it aches.

It's a rhetorical question, Dean's pretty sure, but Sam doesn't keep going – he seems to want an answer. "I…" Dean starts. "No? I don't understand the question, Sammy."

"I never told you about hell," Sam says, seeming for all the world calm. Dean's heart is thumping so hard it feels like it's going to burst out of his chest. 

"So tell us," Cas says, and Dean gives his hand another squeeze. Thank god Cas is here.

Sam's focus turns inward for a moment, some kind of weird mental preparation Dean's seen him do a thousand times before making a tough decision. The he nods to himself, and looks up, meeting Dean's eyes, shifting his focus to Cas for just a moment, and then back to Dean.

"It started out with typical torture. Pain. Rape. When Lucifer figured out that pain wasn't really ever going to get the reaction he wanted, various forms of psychological torture. I've seen you dead so many ways, Dean. And I thought I'd seen it all when Gabriel killed you a hundred times." 

Dean can feel himself tense up at the mention of that time loop. Sam was fucked up for a while after that one, all broody and weird.

"But even the fun in that wore off after a while, I guess." Sam chuckles, a dark sound that Dean doesn't like very much. 

"Then it was… roleplay, I guess. Lucifer pretending to be you, seeing what kind of fucked up things he could do before I'd remember I was in the cage, or just do something so outrageous I knew it couldn't be you."

Sam shuts his eyes, sighs. "I think I gave him the next idea, actually." He opens his eyes and smiles at Dean, so much sadness there. Dean doesn't often see it, but every once in a while, Sam's eyes will show every single year he was in hell, and it's obvious just how much older Sam is than him. It kills him to even think about it.

"Sometimes I remembered where I was when I was in those little psychodramas, and I would do something crazy, completely unexpected."

Sam chuckles again, and Dean's heart falls to his shoes when he hears the half-dead sound. Gallows humor has always been Sam's thing, his way of getting through the worst times, but this is horrible. There's no death here, just continuous torture and mindfuckery. Dean can't help wanting to touch Sam now, gather him up like when he was little and tell him _it's okay now, Dean's here, nothing's gonna hurt you._

"So that's when I think he realized that no one could ever come close to the way I tortured myself."

"Sam," Cas says, and when Dean spares a second to look at Cas, he looks pale, almost in shock. He doesn't have anything to follow it up with, so Sam just nods reassuringly at him and continues.

"He would start the psychodrama with a break-out from hell. There were a million different ways. Spells. Demon deals. All kinds of made-up bullshit, but I believed it, every time. And we'd go on with our lives after. I couldn't even tell you most of the fake lifetimes anymore, there were so many."

 _Oh no._ Dean already knows where this is heading, and his heart is breaking at the dawning understanding. _Sammy._

"The first time, he pulled the rug out right after I'd hugged you. Just the simple relief I felt, the joy at seeing the real _you_ again… I guess that was too good. He had to take it away. I was devastated."

Cas's grip is getting tighter again, and now Dean understands. This is why he never wanted to tell Sam about his own torture. It couldn't do anything but make Sam feel bad that there was nothing he could do. This kind of impotence is maddening.

"After that, he'd let me sit in the cage, sometimes torture, just for the fun of it, sometimes just leaving me utterly alone to drown in my thoughts. But then he'd try again, start an illusion where you broke me out. Sometimes he'd take me out of it after a little while, but sometimes he'd let them run. For years. We made it to old age, once, and I was on my deathbed. Dying, that was the happiness he wanted to take away from me."

Sam shakes his head, a rueful smile on his face. Dean wants to stab Lucifer in the face six million times.

"So you're saying you won't chance allowing yourself to be happy because you believe this is not really happening," Cas says, and again Dean is dumbfounded by the simple truth of the situation. 

It is the simplest, most elegant torture Lucifer could ever have devised, guaranteed to fuck Sam up even if they did ever get him out of the cage. Dean is torn between the murderous rage he feels and the black hole of despair that's growing where his heart used to be. He can't stand that Sam is so completely broken that Dean can't even put together the pieces.

"I'm saying that if I say yes, and I'm still in the cage, then I lose even this." He waves his hand around at the bunker. "I like it here. I like you two being happy. As long as I don't try to be happy myself, as long as I don't have any strong emotions… then I can have this much. And if it's only a respite, well. I don't care. It's a good one."

Dean wants to punch something. There is no way for them to prove to Sam this is real. Hell, Sam's convincing enough that _he_ 's starting to have doubts about whether or not he's real. Jesus.

"But what if this is real?" Cas argues. "What if you really have broken out of the cage and we are real and you are denying yourself – and us – the true joy we could experience together?"

Sam shrugs. "As tempting as that is," he says, "I'm not sure it's worth the risk of the flip side."

It's too much. Dean hasn't cried in a long time – he's been too angry to be sad, too pissed off at the world to be upset about the raw deal he and Sam have gotten – and Cas too, when he takes a minute to think about it. But he has no way of convincing Sam, so he has no way to make it better, and he can live with the shit in his life because he ended up here and happy and he'll make this work. But knowing Sam will always be less than happy, less than at home, less than everything he deserves for how much he's done for the world… that's more than Dean can take. 

When he looks up at Sam, Sam's crying too. "See?" he says. "I told you I would break you."

~~~


	61. Superhuman Day

~~~

Castiel can feel Dean's deep sorrow and guilt, resonating with his own. He can offer no comfort to Dean, and may never be comforted himself again.

"Is it possible?" Dean asks. "That we're literally figments of Sam's imagination?"

"No." Castiel wants to leave it at that, but it's not fair to Dean for him not to have the entire truth. "But it is possible that we are figments of Lucifer's. Lucifer could create phylacteries that are real enough to question their own existence."

Dean puts his head back in his hands. Castiel shifts on the bed, coming to sit behind Dean, pulling him back to lean against him. "But if that's what we are, beings created to torture Sam with our very existence, then we should consider very carefully the effects those choices have on him."

"You think I'm not?" Dean asks, and Castiel can feel the heaviness in him. Dean has cried a lot today, but there are many more tears left in him.

"That's not what I meant. I simply meant we should add consideration of the ultimate end result should Sam's concept prove true."

"I know, Cas, and I am." 

"Then you see there are really only three choices here." 

Dean shrugs, burrowing in, turning on his side. "Spell 'em out for me."

"Try to convince him we're real, even though _we're_ not sure of that; force ourselves on him and hope we truly are ourselves; or let Sam make the choice."

Dean sighs heavily. "And Sam will choose to watch us and not engage. But how can I live like that if I know that's what's going on with him? Cas, I can't…. I can't live not knowing, thinking everything I'm doing is some kind of sick torture for my brother. I'd rather give him one minute of true happiness and let it all get taken away than be part of a sick low-grade fever dream."

Castiel nods. "But if it is not real, and Lucifer takes it away from Sam, then we have simply taken away his comfort, flawed though it might be, and forced Lucifer to start on another – after he tortures Sam physically to get him to forget, or be willing to participate in such a psychodrama again, just for the respite. And you and I would cease to exist." 

"That is the _last_ thing I care about," Dean says. "If Sam is this broken, I don't want to just keep on keepin' on. We have to fix him."

Castiel wraps his arms around Dean, pulling him in closer. "Perhaps there is no way to fix him."

"Then what, Cas?" Dean asks, the anger not quite enough to soak through the sadness surrounding him like a thick, wool blanket. "Just… pretend? I can't do that."

"You can," Castiel answers. "If his only happiness is through you, then your duty is to provide him the lens through which he might enjoy his imprisonment. And maybe, some day, he will decide to do more than watch."

"But how can I even think about being happy when I know Sam thinks he's still in hell?" Dean's words are muffled against Castiel's shirt, but he doesn't need to hear them to know the pain Dean is suffering, the impossible decision he has to make.

"You can remember that if that is the case, you are there with him, and your presence is what makes it bearable."

That's not a comfort to Dean, but it is an action plan, and Castiel knows Dean's mind will accept it as a stopping point for the night and allow him to rest. It takes another hour and a half, but Dean finally drops off, and Castiel gently shifts him to the bed, giving him a pillow to wrap himself around until Castiel can return.

~~~

Sam is drinking alone. That is never a good sign.

Castiel picks up a tumbler from the tray and slides it across the table to Sam before taking a seat. 

"I really broke him, huh," Sam says, pouring Castiel some whiskey. 

"Yes. And myself as well, if we're being honest."

Sam huffs out a breath of air that sounds like it's trying to be a laugh. "I hate to say _I told you so_ , but..."

"Indeed you did, Sam." Castiel takes a drink of the whiskey, letting the liquid sit on his palate as he absorbs the flavors and fumes. There are many subtleties to whiskey and he enjoys pulling out the flavors. It's a small pleasure, one he can apparently still engage in without feeling guilty. He wonders if he will eventually learn to live amiably in this lopsided universe where his experience and his knowledge don't coincide. "I am not certain Dean will be able to recover fully from this news."

Sam nods. "I had thought of that. I didn't want to tell him, but we all know he would have continued to push. Dean doesn't take no for an answer."

"We do. So you told him the truth despite your misgivings." Castiel raises his glass, putting it between himself and Sam. He is not one for subterfuge, but observing Sam while he notes the color of the whiskey is simply one way in which he can put his angelic senses to good use. He has a feeling Sam is about to make an uncomfortable request.

"Can we undo that?" Sam asks. It's not quite the question Castiel was expecting, but similar enough for the difference to be negligible.

"I don't think so, Sam." Castiel would gladly be the keeper of the secret if need be. He could make Dean forget, rearrange the events of the last several months in his memories. But he finds he doesn't want to. It's not that Dean would not want that, though the idea does weigh on him a little.

No, it's the simple fact that if there is one thing that might make Sam change his mind, it's Dean.

"You don't think so, or you won't do it?" Sam is staring directly at Castiel, so he puts down the glass and meets Sam's eyes.

"Time travel is risky and unreliable. Rearranging Dean's memories is also risky, and yes, I refuse to take that risk. I would not scramble your brother's brain to ease your guilty conscience."

Sam frowns and lowers his eyes to his glass. "I don't want him beating himself up about this. I've lived with it for years, I know how to manage it. There's no need for Dean to be miserable."

A thought strikes Castiel. He isn't sure it will make a difference, but it doesn't hurt to plant the seed. "Have you ever told Dean before?" he asks. "In any of those other lifetimes?"

Sam raises one corner of his mouth down toward his whiskey. "Nope. Not until this time. And I told him twice."

Castiel turns his mind to Sam's last brush with memories of Lucifer. "After your soul had been restored," he says.

Sam nods. "It was easier then, though, because pain got him to back off. At least for a while. That's what jolted the memory, though. Sometimes I don't realize I'm in one of Lucifer's little movies – it isn't until the moment I find happiness that I remember, just as Lucifer comes back to take it all away."

"So this time you remembered, and you are extending the lifetime by denying yourself that which would make you happy."

Sam shrugs. "I remembered maybe half the time. And I always lived with it, never told Dean. He never asked, usually, never figured out anything was wrong with me."

Castiel nods. "And me?"

Sam smiles. "Honestly, you've never been in one of them before. You were dead, last I saw you before the cage."

That feels auspicious; Castiel waits to see if Sam draws the same conclusion.

"Huh," Sam says. "None of this would've happened if not for you, Cas."

Castiel tries to calm his beating heart. He can feel it speeding up; the human body's reactions to hope are distracting. He keeps his silence, lets Sam come to his own conclusion.

"Guess Lucifer's getting more creative."

The devastation Castiel feels with Sam's choice is merely an echo of earlier, when the depth of Sam's delusion was enough to shake the foundations of Castiel's beliefs, but it hurts nonetheless. 

He can't stay. Arguing with Sam takes patience and fortitude, and Castiel finds he needs to recover his before continuing the conversation. He excuses himself and returns to Dean, taking what little comfort he can from Dean curling around him in his sleep.

~~~


	62. Make Your Bed Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings; This is from Sam's POV and deals with his struggle with reality.

~~~

It was a mistake, telling Dean.

Sam knew it almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth, but there's no taking back that kind of information, so what can he do? He tried convincing Cas to fix it, but Cas either can't or won't. Or maybe some combination of the two.

Dean has been moving around the bunker in a daze, slow and with no real purpose, and Sam remembers some of those lifetimes – going through them nearly catatonic because once you figure out Lucifer's fucking with you, what's the point? But Dean has always been his rock, the one thing he can come back to, lean on, use as a resting place before he keeps on trudging.

Now he's broken Dean, truly and completely, and maybe Cas too. Cas is a pragmatist, so he doesn't seem to have come to the same "life is pointless" conclusion as Dean, but he is different. 

Sam spends a few days waiting, watching, but he knows after Dean spends most of day two in bed – he's forced his own hand. He can't leave Dean like this, doubting everything and unable to get to the next stage, where he can move forward with the illusion.

Maybe Dean would eventually be able to do it, but Sam knows how hard it is, to force yourself to act like life has meaning when you're pretty sure it doesn't, and Dean has always had an innate understanding of that, a solid grounding in the importance of their mission, their lives, that Sam has simply never had.

All Sam has is dogged determination. He can keep trying when no one else can, because the only thing that he's never been able to kill while trying to extend these lifetimes is hope.

He knows what he has to do next, and while he's steeling himself for the worst, the ideas that Cas planted are in the back of his mind, hope growing even as much as Sam tries to squash it. He never can kill it completely, and the fact that this is his first lifetime with Cas, and the first time he's shared his fears with Dean… he can't help the niggling thought that maybe this is finally real. Maybe Cas really did it, maybe this was God's intervention, bringing Cas back, and He has answered Sam's prayers.

He can't count on it, and he's going to prepare himself for the worst, but it's the possibility of the best that gets his feet moving to Dean and Cas's room.

~~~

He hasn't been back here since Dean invited him into bed and he accepted, months ago now. He stands in the doorway, unnoticed by Dean or Cas, and watches them.

Dean is sleeping – how he has spent most of the last three days – and Cas is rubbing his back. Cas spends a lot of his time observing the two of them. Sam's not sure how he feels about an angel of the lord wasting so much time on them, but he makes Dean happy, and that is a win in Sam's book. Maybe Cas feels he has the time to spare, since he's immortal. Maybe Cas's patience actually outmatches Sam's.

He's fairly certain that Cas knows he's there, but Cas doesn't always acknowledge someone he considers to be intruding, so Sam waits. He doesn't mind watching the care Cas takes with Dean. He could have been content with this, spending a lifetime watching Cas make his brother happy.

Dean's instincts are still honed, though, because he wakes with a start, looking up at Cas and immediately rolling over to look at Sam. "Sammy," he says, his voice rough with sleep. 

Sam hesitates one last time – Dean is beautiful, half-asleep with pillow creases on his cheek, and it's not just Sam's life that'll be ending if it turns out this is another bit of Lucifer Theater. But he knows Dean, and he knows Dean would rather jump in headfirst to prove things one way or another than live in this limbo forever. Of course Dean hasn't lived through hundreds of these lifetimes already, but it doesn't matter. 

Sam broke him, it's Sam's turn to step up and fix him.

"Can I…" He doesn't even know what he's asking. If he's going to do this, he's going to go all the way, but he doesn't even have a clue what to ask for first. "Can I join you?"

Dean leans up on one elbow, the change apparent in that one action making Sam's heart ache. Dean has purpose again, he has faith – no matter that his faith has always been misplaced in Sam. "Yeah," he says, grinning and patting the bed next to him. "Yeah, Sam, always."

Cas has finally acknowledged Sam, an almost-smile on his face. He scoots over until he is almost on the edge of the bed, pulling Dean in close to make room.

Sam sits down on the edge of the bed, teetering on the brink. Once Dean touches him, he'll be lost, but there's still the possibility of choice here. This is the last moment of the unknown; once he's taken this step, things will change, one way or the other.

"Are you sure, Sam?" Cas asks, and he can hear the "oof" as Dean gives him an elbow for that. The hope rears its head and Sam pushes through the inertia. If these are his last moments in this play, he will make the most of them.

"I'm sure," Sam says, tucking his legs up and shifting sideways across the bed until he's curled up next to Dean. The warmth is immediate, and he closes his eyes against the inevitable rush of relief he has whenever Dean takes care of him, that moment of being able to put down his burden for just a minute.

Dean's arms come around him and pull him back until he is tucked firmly against Dean, Dean spooned around him nice and tight before Cas pulls the covers over him. It's perfection. He feels like a child again, all his fears gone, only Dean. 

Dean's hand comes up to his hair, pulling it back from his face. Sam closes his eyes and lets go, forcing his mind back to the present over and over again, concentrating on Dean. Dean's arm underneath him, holding him close, Dean's warmth at his back, seeping into his bones, Dean's fingers in his hair, soothing.

Sam has no illusions about where this is all heading. It's not the first lifetime he's ended up in a sexual relationship with Dean, and the one thing about Dean's sex drive is that it's always in top gear, shifting into overdrive when there's another warm body nearby.

So it's not unexpected when Dean's fingers stray to Sam's neck, and his collarbone, and then there are kisses to follow the touches. Neither is Dean's, "Let's get our money's worth," and his own dark laugh in response. 

What is unexpected is Cas's hand, over the top of Dean's arm, stroking Sam's pec and slowly making its way down Sam's chest. He can feel himself jump at the first touch, pressing back hard into Dean, but as it becomes obvious that Cas was paying extremely close attention to Sam in the shower, he shifts back against Dean on purpose, pushing himself back against the cradle of Dean's hips.

"Sam," Dean whispers in his ear, probably not even on purpose, just a breath with Sam's name on it, same as a million times Sam's heard his name in the very motion of his brother. 

"Dean," he answers, because the same is true of him, Dean's name is written in his cells; it's there in everything he does, in every breath he takes. When Dean grabs his hips and grinds up into him, he can't help repeating himself, over and over, Dean's name pulled out of him again and again.

"I'm here," Dean says, the words right against Sam's skin, followed by a kiss. "I'm right here."

Cas finally makes his way all the way to Sam's cock, his hand tucked in under the waistband of Sam's pajama pants, gripping Sam strong and sure, strength enough to cross Sam's eyes. 

Cas sets up a brutal pace for his handjob – similar to the one Sam gave himself in the shower, which was more for show than because he likes it that way – and it's Dean that comes to his rescue again, grabbing Cas's wrist and saying, "Slow down, Cas. I want to make this last." 

It's like a key in a lock, though, Dean wanting to take his time – it's like knowing Dean wants to spend time discovering Sam that is the thing that tips Sam over the edge. He comes in Cas's hand, Dean's hands and mouth on him, and as he chants Dean's name, he can't help the tears that fall. He's made his choice, now there's nothing to do but wait for the consequences.

~~~


	63. Get Ready Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first of four connected chapters. I'm nearing the end of the third chapter (which is huge), and I didn't want to start posting until I felt confident I could post these three chapters closely together so as not to leave y'all hanging. We made it, folks. Hope you enjoy!

~~~

Dean wakes up some time in the early morning. He can feel it in his bones, though it's just plain dark in the bunker. He loves the bunker, but he would really love to have that first slant of morning light right now. He can feel Sam's body next to his, the heaviness meaning he's still asleep – but he would like to see Sam's face, maybe watch him sleep a little. He's never seen the appeal of that before, always thought Cas was kind of weird for watching them sleep, but maybe he gets it now.

Mostly, though, he feels relieved that he still exists, and partly a little stupid. He never really believed that Sam was right about them not being real, but his argument was enough to sow the seeds of doubt. More than that, it'd made Dean feel hopeless – knowing what Sam was going through with absolutely no way to convince him otherwise was enough to make Dean question the point of everything. 

But he's still here, and so is Sam, sleeping in his arms like when they were kids. He brushes the hair out of Sam's face. Sam stirs and breathes out, a long slow exhale. 

Dean feels settled, for the moment. He knows some happiness; Cas makes him happy. Having Sam around makes him happy. Happiness, though, isn't something that comes naturally to him, and it's never long-lasting. Maybe knowing that Sam was unhappy on some fundamental level meant Dean couldn't really enjoy his own few moments of happiness. 

Sam used to be a happy kid. Maybe he was a moody teenager, but Dean can forgive him that. Can forgive him walking out the door, too. He doesn't really care what happened before – it's all water under the bridge now. He just can't figure out when Sam started living this quietly desperate life; where all his stubbornness and passion went. _When_ it went. 

He can trace their history, tie things to the timeline like pictures on a piece of string, but in the end, Sam has been too good at hiding things for too long. Dean doesn't know when Sam lost that spark, but he intends to help Sam get it back. It's not dead, Dean's sure, just buried. Buried under the belief that Sam doesn't deserve any better. Hopefully showing him his delusion was wrong is the first step.

Dean takes a deep breath and sighs it out. Sam's hair flutters in his eyes again and Dean brushes it back, resisting the urge to squeeze Sam hard enough to wake him up.

~~~

The next time Dean opens his eyes, it can't be more than an hour later – he's still in the same position on his side, but Sam has scooted out from under his arm, lying on his back with an arm under his head, staring up at the ceiling. 

"Hey," Dean says. 

"Hey," Sam answers, his eyes still glued to the ceiling. 

"Everything okay?"

It's a loaded question, and the simple relief Dean'd felt a little while ago evaporates the longer Sam takes to answer it.

"Just…"

There are tears standing in Sam's eyes, and there's nothing Dean can do. The helplessness is driving him insane. He holds his breath. He doesn't know what to expect; he can't even let himself hope that Sam might just believe this is real, take it all at face value.

"I thought… maybe he'd wait, you know?" 

Sam sounds kind of hopeful, actually, and Dean lets out his breath slowly. It's the only control he has to keep his heart from beating out of his chest.

"Like, ha ha, you thought it was real, just kidding. Snatch it away when I woke up, all happy and stupid." Sam smiles a little, and it tips the tears out; they run down the sides of his face. Dean can't help wiping one away with his thumb.

"But waking up like this?" Sam brings his hand up to grab Dean's wrist and closes his eyes. "I haven't known peace like that in my entire life, Dean." He smiles again, and another pair of tears follows the first. "There's no way Lucifer would let me have that for more than a millisecond before taking it away."

Dean can feel the relief flood in, tears coming up in his own eyes, swift and burning. Every protective instinct he has is screaming at him to pull Sam close, to hold him and not let him go, ever. 

"So… you're good?" Dean asks. It's not even close to the right words, but Sammy has always understood the question under the question, and he meets Dean's eyes and smiles.

Finally, after swallowing a bunch of times, Sam whispers hoarsely, "Yeah. I'm good."

Dean doesn't dare push his luck. He has a feeling those words were a struggle for Sam, so he's going to leave it there.

"How about some food?"

"No," Cas says, and they both sit up and twist around to see him. "We're not leaving this bed for three days."

Dean blinks. Well, okay then. 

Sam laughs. "We have to eat," he says, and oh – _oh_. Dean can't _wait_ to show Sam what a little of Cas's mojo can do.

"Actually," Dean says, untwisting himself so Cas can lean over him to press two fingers to Sam's forehead. "We don't." He waits for Cas to fix him up, too – he has to piss, and he'll be glad to get rid of that pressure. It takes a minute, because they're both watching Sam, whose eyes have gotten about as big as dinner plates. 

"Seriously?" Sam asks. "You use angel magic so you can stay in bed for days at a time?"

Dean laughs, a bright _ha ha!_ that make Sam close his eyes and shake his head. "That's nothing," he says. "Just you wait."

Cas has used his mojo to fix whatever it is that means you can't get an erection right after you come. Dean came for nearly ten minutes straight once – passed out from the pleasure, eventually. 

Cas finally takes care of Dean, and Dean bounces himself over Sam and onto his other side. They'd all been curled up together on one edge of the bed; he takes advantage of the space, stretching and shoving Sam toward Cas.

"Hello, Sam," Cas says. Sam's looking a little wide-eyed at the angel, and Dean can feel his excitement boil over as Cas goes on the offensive. He doesn't do it most of the time – he's more curious than anything when it comes to sex – but when he does, it is something else.

Cas brings himself up on one elbow, looming over Sam, and Sam's eyes are filled with disbelief. Dean remembers feeling the same way the first time Cas pulled that trick on him. 

Something changes in the room, though; it's like the air itself has been ionized, and when Sam's eyes shift from disbelief to reverent awe, Dean knows. Cas has unfolded his wings. He's jealous all over again that Sam can see that part of Cas – and then chides himself for the jealousy, because the way Sam got that ability sucks beyond the telling of it. If this is one good thing Sam got out of it, then they should use it all the time. Cas is clever for thinking of it.

Cas leans down to kiss Sam, and Dean can feel everything coming from the other side of the bed; apprehension and anticipation from Sam, curiosity and desire to please from Cas. Sam's hand shoots out to the side, maybe looking for Dean, for reassurance, and Dean grabs it, giving it a squeeze as he moves it to rest on Cas's shoulder.

He moves closer, though – he doesn't mind Sam wanting a little support from him, and much as he likes to watch, he thinks Sam is probably going to need more than voyeuristic encouragement.

Cas likes to kiss, and can sometimes get stuck there, so eventually Dean has to help him move things forward. He shifts Cas's hand from where he is rhythmically rubbing a thumb over Sam's collarbone, down Sam's chest and stomach to his dick. Sam moans into Cas's mouth, something that goes straight to _Dean's_ dick, because he knows what Cas is like when he won't let up. He's like a force of nature. Maybe he actually _is_ a force of nature.

It isn't long before they get to the part where Cas needs lube, so Dean grabs it from the bedside table where they keep their stash. He picks out his favorite dildo, too, a brief moment of incongruity when he realizes Cas is going to use it on his brother. That seems weird. Maybe a little gross, except Dean knows that Cas is a clean freak and uses his mojo to clean everything every time they have sex. Maybe there really is something about that cleanliness/Godliness thing.

Dean watches Cas take Sam apart, slow and precise, watches Sam shake and swear, and the parade of emotions that cross his face. Surprise, wonder, disbelief, awe. Then he looks over at Dean, all that and gratitude in his face – until he sees that Dean's beating off to the show, and then it all turns into a knowing smirk, which is better than gratitude any day.

"C'mon, Cas," Sam says, turning back to look at Cas, "what're you waiting for?"

Sex with Cas is fun, often funny, and sometimes accidentally hot, but mostly it's a little off-kilter and weirdly thorough. But there is one thing that Cas does naturally that makes Dean breathless every time, and that's respond to a challenge. Dean holds his breath and watches Cas's face shift from concentration and concern to dispassionate calculation.

"I'm waiting for you, impudent child," Cas says, and does something with his fingers that makes Sam gasp and arch his back. "Whenever you are ready."

Sam's disbelief and wonder are back, but this time there's an edge to them – Dean remembers the first time his teasing brought this out in Cas. It's in his top three. Ever. 

Cas speeds up his work, and Sam throws his head back, showing off his long neck, and Dean can feel his insides churn at the sudden desire to bite it. He's okay with watching Sam and Cas, but there's still built-in guilt and shame, thinking about Sam like that.

Luckily Cas has really taken charge, and when Sam whispers, "Please, Cas, fuck me already," it's enough to make Dean's face melt off even before Cas picks up the dildo and answers, "You'll get this, and you'll like it."

Dean always has to bite back a reaction of "yes, sir" because that gets even creepier, the way he's automatically wired to respond to commands like that – because of his dad, and yeah, why not make this whole mess more icky and complicated – but Sam doesn't hesitate. He answers, "yes, sir," in his best little soldier voice, which Dean hasn't heard since they were kids, before Sam got into his teenage rebellion years.

That's just enough to surprise Dean into coming, and the last thing he sees before he closes his eyes is Cas's smug smile. He listens to Sam come, too, something getting him there – there's too much going on for Dean to even guess what it'd been – and the sound of Sam's hitching breath and sighed out moan comforts as Dean as he comes down.

~~~


	64. International Peace Day

~~~

"Dean," Sam whispers. 

Dean's not really asleep, just drowsing, like he always does after sex, but he doesn't want to move. "Hmm?"

"You're laying on my bladder."

Dean grunts and shifts so he's pressing on it even harder. 

"Dude!"

"Cas," Dean says, rolling over to see where he is. He's on Sam's other side, watching them with amusement. As soon as Dean gives him a look, he puts two fingers on Sam and Sam sucks in a breath.

"That's super weird."

"I think you mean super convenient." Dean shrugs, then yawns. "You get used to it."

Dean's phone buzzes on the bedside table, and he climbs over Sam and Cas to grab it. It's just a text from Claire, a stupid cat meme. He checks email while he's there, and Sam jostles him off, throwing him onto Cas and reaching for his own phone, on the night table on the other side of the bed. 

Cas sighs, reaching across Dean to pick his phone up as well. 

Dean knows Cas understands phones, and uses all the features of them these days, but it's still a little weird to see him looking down at the phone the same way he and Sam are. The three of them settle in against the headboard, each doing their own thing.

Cas is in the middle, and Dean can see Sam glancing down at him, probably thinking the same thing – it's weird to see Cas preoccupied with his phone. After a minute, he says, "Hey Cas, can I see that a minute?"

Dean raises his eyebrows, finishing up his email – why so much fucking spam, honestly? Can't a guy like porn without getting dick enhancement emails all the time? – before leaning in just as Sam is showing something to Cas.

He can't tell what it is; obviously it's a game of some sort, and Dean's curious as hell as to what kind of game Sam thinks Cas might want to play. Sam talks him through the first few steps, and Cas scrolls through a store of some sort, poking at things that are greyed out. "You need more money, Cas – just buy the ball and set it in your yard." 

After Cas is done, Sam says, "Okay, get out of it, and fire it up again." Cas looks dubious, but follows Sam's instructions.

When the app opens again, there is a cat playing with the ball in the middle of the screen. Cas gasps, such a delighted sound, Dean can't help but grin. "What is that?"

"Neko Atsume," Sam answers. "Basically it's 'catch all the cats.' I thought Cas might like it."

Cas is raptly watching the screen of his phone, the little white cat rocking back and forth as it plays with the ball. 

"You have that game?" Dean asks. He's got bunches of games on his phone, most of them stupid and time-wasting, just good ways to while away the hours when you're waiting for sundown so you can dig up a grave.

"Nah, just heard about it. Thought it might be up Cas's alley though." Sam's grinning at Dean over the top of Cas's head, and Dean can't help smiling back. He hasn't seen Sam this uncomplicatedly happy in years. Maybe a decade or two.

"You got anything for me?" He's got a game he thinks Sam might like, but he's not going to be the first to admit how many games he's got on his phone.

"Hmm," Sam says, opening his phone and flipping through. "Katamari?" He taps on an app and some catchy music starts up. "Here," he says, handing it over. "All you have to do is tap on the screen."

Dean's not sure what's so fun about that, and at any rate, he doesn't really understand what's going on – and then, after a few minutes, it becomes clear there's not really that much to it; it's really not his thing. "Is that the best you got? Because I gotta say, Sammy, that's kinda lame."

Sam mutters something, and Dean elbows Cas so he jostles into Sam, earning him a dirty look from Cas when he looks up from his cats. Sam rolls his eyes. "I said it's probably just a nostalgia thing. I played that game a lot in college. There's more to it when you play on a console."

Dean nods. He has a few games that are tied to playing on their stolen Nintendo back in the day. He'll never admit how many phones he's downloaded Tetris on. "Here," he says, offering the olive branch, "I've got one I think you'll like."

He pulls up the burger-making game on his phone and hands it over. "There's a bunch more, cupcakes and smoothies and pizza, but I like the burgers best."

Sam snorts. "I'm so surprised," but he takes the phone and starts the game. It starts kind of slow, so after a minute, he says, "Hang on – how about this?" and hands over his phone with a different game on it. 

It's called Crush the Castle, and Dean is in _heaven_. He plays each level obsessively until he can win a gold medal, and when he looks over at Sam and Cas, each staring down at a phone with huge grins on their faces, he can't help feeling like they've done it. They've finally found their way to a little bit of happiness.

~~~

"I told you," Sam says and Dean rolls his eyes. Such a damn know-it-all.

"Fine, I like it, shut up and watch."

They're watching Leverage, on Sam's insistence, and damn if Dean hasn't gotten invested. He likes heists, though that's definitely more Sam's thing, but it's the weird team relationship that he enjoys. Cas is unduly excited about Parker, which seems weird at first because Dean definitely has a moment where he wonders if she might be an angel, her reactions are so off-the-norm. Then he realizes it's a kindred spirit thing and he goes with it.

They're five episodes into the first season and Dean knows that after this weird three-day bed adventure, they'll be watching the rest of this, but for right now, Dean's debating another nap. They're all on their stomachs, watching the iPad that's resting on the dresser and Sam's in the middle, feet up because he's too long for the mattress. 

When Cas had announced three days in bed, Dean'd assumed he meant sex. There's been a little of that, but this hasn't been the non-stop orgy he'd expected when Cas made his declaration. Hell, they all still have clothes on. Just pajama pants for him and boxers for Sam, but Cas is almost fully dressed, and seriously, Dean had expected a lot more nakedness by this point.

There's been some fooling around. A couple of fraught accidents where just being in close quarters like this means you're going to accidentally set someone off just by shifting to make yourself more comfortable. But they've all been short, intense, not-really-on-purpose things, and Dean is pretty sure they're going to have to take some time to do it right before Cas's dictate is up or everything is just going to be weird for them when they try to go back to their normal lives.

And what is _normal_ now, anyway? Is it all three of them in Dean's bed every night? Is it sitting together on the couch watching Leverage and cuddling? He knows what his reaction would be if Sam said those things, he can hear the way his internal asshole, that voice he kind of hates, but that keeps him alive, scoffs in the back of his head, saying something about teenage girls.

Will hunting be the same? Will they still work well as a team, or will this complicate everything? 

He takes just a second to imagine the three of them doing something other than hunting – all right, fine, running a restaurant – and puts it out of his mind before he can even imagine more than the three of them in the kitchen, moving around each other with the kind of ease that comes from long practice.

The sound of the show interrupts his thoughts, and he's suddenly feeling too tired, and fine – scared – to think about them anymore. He curls into his brother, resting his head on Sammy's back and listening to the deep inhales and exhales, and lets himself drowse.

~~~

Dean wakes to a curious sound – Cas humming. He's petting Sam's hair and humming that tune that's hauntingly familiar but not one Dean's ever been able to place.

"What is that?" he whispers. Sam is sleeping and Dean doesn't want to wake him.

"A song from long ago," Cas says. He smiles sadly, and Dean doesn't ask, but puts it in the back of his mind as something to keep an eye out for, maybe ask about later.

Dean's curled up around Sam's legs, his head resting in the curve of his spine. It's a small space, because Sam can only stretch out on the bed diagonally, and even then, his feet hang off. "We should get a new bed," Dean says. "There's got to be some kind of bed made for gigantors like Sam."

Cas nods his agreement as he continues to hum and pet Sam's hair. Dean sighs and sits up, trying not to jostle Sam in the tiny space he's got on his little triangle of the bed. Sam shifts, curling toward Dean and opening up more space by Cas, so Dean gently shifts, crawling over his brother in a slow, awkward slink.

When he finally sets down next to Cas, he watches him for another minute or so before pulling him into his lap and nuzzling his neck. They're still watching Sam, sleeping peacefully. "I think I finally get why you watch us sleep."

Cas stays silent, so Dean keeps talking. It's one of the best things about Cas; he doesn't have expectations about Dean talking, there's no judgment, so Dean doesn't have to worry he's going to let Cas down with something he says. "Things are going to be all about Sam for a while. Hope that's okay."

Cas huffs a little, a silent laugh. "Things are always about Sam with you," Cas says, which should make Dean feel guilty, but doesn't, especially when Cas adds, "I love that about you."

Dean breathes out onto Cas's skin. That is why Cas is perfect. He understands. Dean can't even say what it is he and Sam have – it's beyond family, and now beyond… whatever this is. Sam is a fundamental part of him, something he can't live without. No one ever really understood that before Cas, not even the people that knew him best. Maybe no one ever really knew him at all.

Dean doesn't say _I love you_ , never has. The reasons have changed over the years, but it doesn't matter. Those words are too small to contain what he feels about Cas anyway. He wraps his arms around Cas's waist and keeps kissing his neck until Cas turns around to face him. His eyes tick over Dean's face, inventorying his freckles or noting the wrinkles that have started to show up, Dean will never know, and then Cas places soft kisses everywhere his eyes fell. Dean closes his eyes and enjoys the feeling of being cherished, of being seen for what he is and loved anyway.

~~~


	65. Autumnal Equinox

~~~

Dean really wishes he had alcohol about now. This is more terrifying than anything he's done in his entire life, and it's the kind of thing you're supposed to do when you're really, really drunk – kind of like karaoke. He grits his teeth and says, "Fine, dare."

Cas hasn't gotten the hang of this yet, but he has a sort of easy truthfulness that makes Dean queasy sometimes. Better safe than sorry. 

The only other dare so far was Sam giving one to Dean, and he threw an easy one, so Cas probably won't –

"Kiss your brother."

_Fuck._

Dean looks at Cas, to see if he's all smug, hitting on the one thing that still makes Dean squirm on the inside, but he's just Cas, unassuming and unaware that's he's stumbled over something that makes Dean feel guilty and ashamed.

Dean doesn't dare look at Sam. He's sure Sam feels the same way, and that will only make it harder. This is weird and, no matter how many times Cas gives his speech about love, it's just _wrong_. Dean knows he's dirty-bad-wrong in a lot of ways, but this one is not one that's easily set aside as a pointless norm that doesn't apply to their absolutely not-normal life.

It's a testament to how long it's been since he played Truth or Dare that he doesn't even think about cheating until he's already starting to lean in toward Sam. As soon as he does, though, it's easy, and he ducks his head around the side to kiss Sam's cheek. 

Sam chuckles, and when Dean looks at Cas, he looks annoyed. "That's not what I meant."

"It's what you said."

Dean knows the next dare will be more precisely worded, but he's cheated at a lot of Truth or Dare in his life and Cas is new at this. Dean'll have the upper hand for a little while at least. 

Cas gives him a brief disappointed look, the one that always makes Dean wonder what the hell the angel ever saw in him, anyway, and turns to Sam. "Truth or dare?"

Sam glances nervously at Dean before answering, "Truth."

Cas nods. "Do you still believe you might be in the cage with Lucifer?"

Dean sucks in a breath. Wow. _Don't pull any punches, Cas._

The nerves go out of Sam, which is unexpected. It's like a ripple of cool water goes right through him, and he settles, looking comfortable and almost happy.

Truth or dare was never something they did much, and it was always dares until they got drunk enough that they were both too lazy or too hammered to do them any more. 

Though when Dean thinks on it more, Sam always was better with truth than him; sometimes he would ask for a truth (usually after Dean made him eat or drink something disgusting) and Dean could never bring himself to ask the questions he really wanted to know. Maybe he didn’t know what he really wanted to know back then.

"Not really," Sam says. "This has been a little surreal, so you might have to ask again once we finally get out of this bed. But I…" Sam flicks his eyes at Dean, gives him a small smile. "I'm happier than I think I've ever been. More than happy, maybe. Content. And I can't believe Lucifer would ever let me have this if I was still in the cage."

Doubt passes over Sam's face and he takes a breath like he's going to speak, seems to think better of it, and then opens his mouth anyway. "Though I suppose it might crush me worse to let me have it for a little while and _then_ pull the rug out."

Cas nods, like he expected that answer. Dean doesn't like it, but he knows his own view of happiness and contentment and the possibility that he might have it for any significant amount of time. He understands how Sam feels. Completely.

Sam clears his throat, turning to Dean and giving him a shark's smile. "Truth or dare, Dean."

"Dare."

Dean's never been afraid of dares. Sam always overthinks it and comes up with something lame. Even if he could come up with a good one, there's not a lot Dean wouldn't do even without a dare. 

"Sing 'I'm a Little Teapot' with your dick," Sam says. 

Dean can feel his face go slack at the suggestion. He can't even comprehend it for a second, trying to wrap his head around what Sam means. Then he gets it, and tips his head back, laughing. Where in the hell did Sam even get the idea?

It's good, though, so Dean goes up on his knees, drops his pants, and makes his dick sing about being short and stout. Sam is laughing so hard, tears are rolling down his face, and Cas's eyes are crinkled up, and he's smiling the way Dean's only ever seen him when it's just the two of them. It's even better when he can't remember the words and Sam's laughing too hard to get them out.

They all collapse back on the bed, laughing, and Dean thinks maybe this is it, maybe he could reach out and touch Sam and he could get past whatever the fuck it is that's twisting him up on the inside.

Then Sam says, "Cas, truth or dare," and the moment is lost. Maybe it wasn't really a moment at all, maybe Dean's imagining things. Maybe Dean wants something that he's going to have to play the game to get.

"Truth," Cas answers, as he has every time so far. That's going to get old real quick.

Sam nods, looking Cas in the eye before asking, "What's the three days in bed for?"

Dean'd assumed it was sex, but obviously that's not what Sam thought. Dean turns to Cas and it's clear it's not sex at all. Cas smiles like he's proud of Sam, and of course, Dean's always proud of Sam, except when he's a know-it-all and smug about figuring something out. He's not looking smug this time, though, so Dean just waits for Cas to answer the question.

"It's a ritual," Cas says. "It will strengthen our bond."

"Our bond needs strengthening?" Sam asks. "I didn't think it was possible to be closer to anyone than I am to Dean."

And _that_ sounds absolutely bizarre coming out of Sam's mouth, but it's not a lie. No one has ever meant more to Dean, but he would have guessed that he came second to Amelia, or Jess, or pretty much any girlfriend Sam ever had for more than a month.

"It's not about closeness," Cas answers. "It's about bonding on a metaphysical level. I don't entirely know what the results will be, except that it will cement the bond we established last year."

Sam nods, and Dean doesn't even want to think about that _at all_. He has to assume that Cas's ritual can't _hurt_ them, that Cas would've considered that much, but he can't convince himself one hundred percent, so he turns to Sam and says, "Truth or dare."

Sam grins. "Dare."

Dean looks Sam up and down, idly wondering something he's thought about before, in passing. He can't ask a question, though, because it's a dare, so he just goes for it. "Suck your own dick."

Sam raises his eyebrows, but he's not laughing. Dean's not sure what that means, exactly. 

"What makes you think I'm flexible enough to do that?" 

Ohhhhh – that means he's at least tried before. Dean gives Sam his best smirk, and Sam's face shifts into the "shit, I'm going to end up doing this" face that's half disappointment in Dean and half annoyance at having to do something he doesn't want to.

"I know you've tried it," Dean says. "Joined some chick in her yoga class for a while, I'm betting."

Sam sighs. "It's been years. And it looks stupid."

"Don't care."

Cas seems mildly curious about the proceedings, but doesn't seem to have much to add. Finally Sam shifts them all around, putting Cas in one corner of the bed and Dean in the other, and lying diagonally on the bed between them. It isn't until he lifts his legs that Dean gets it – Sam is going to bring his dick to his face, not the other way around. Dean would never even thought of that.

Sam can't quite keep his balance, so Dean and Cas end up putting their hands on him to steady him, and when he's all contorted, it's obvious they should've made him strip first. Dean can't bring himself to pull down Sam's boxers and he's sure Cas won't think of it. Clearly, Sam doesn't have enough balance to keep himself from falling over, much less enough to pull his pants down to show them the goods. Next dare, Dean's going to make him strip naked. Should've done that this time, damn it.

"All right," Dean says, "close enough." That was more of a flop than Dean would've guessed. Too technical. Going to have to go simpler on the next one.

"Truth or dare, Cas," Dean asks, though he knows what Cas is going to say.

"Truth."

Dean sighs. There's not a lot about Cas that he doesn't know, or that he wants to know, considering everything. "Did you plan this?" It's a broad question, and he deserves the crappy answer if he doesn’t put some boundaries on the thing, but Cas isn't a cheater – wouldn't even think of it – so he answers honestly. Of course.

"I planned our binding," Castiel says. "It was a physical and metaphysical representation of something we'd all done in thought. I didn't plan on us ending up like this, but I am glad that we did."

That makes Dean squirm inside, because that means it was the choices he made, or he and Sam made, that brought them here, and Dean's still trying to figure out how _here_ is a place they ended up.

"Truth or dare, Dean," Cas says, smiling softly. He must have guessed Dean's game by now, but trust Cas not to cut corners.

"Dare," Dean answers without hesitation.

Cas smiles and says, "Kiss your brother on the mouth."

Dean shakes his head. Better, but still nowhere near descriptive enough to force Dean to do something he's not ready for yet. Sam is still sprawled between the two of them and when Dean looks down at him, he's wearing a cocky half-smile that means he knows exactly what Dean's going to do. 

It's almost enough for Dean to go for it just to prove Sam wrong, but he's already teaching Cas a lesson and he can't cross the streams. He leans down and gives Sam a peck on the lips. 

Sam looks fondly amused, and Cas looks peeved. It's on. Dean can just imagine if they keep it up, eventually Cas will script an entire kiss, and while that would be hilarious, he's likely to give up before that point and go with truth, just to knock Cas off balance.

"Truth or dare, Sam."

"Truth."

Dean shakes his head. What a loser. Clearly he doesn't understand the point of the game.

"In your fake lifetimes," Cas starts, and Dean's breath is stolen right out of his lungs. He doesn't want Sam to have to talk about that, not ever, and if there is any reason not to ask for truths, Sam's lived experience is it. "Did you ever end up in a sexual relationship with your brother?"

Dean blinks. Thaaaaaat…. was not where he thought Cas was going with the question.

"Sure," Sam says, and Dean's bowled over by the easy admission, like it isn't fucked up, like it isn't the thing twisting Dean into knots even now, after two days in bed together. "Sometimes as punishment, sometimes as respite. It was surprisingly easy to slip into that type of relationship. Even the first time, it didn't occur to me that it wasn't Dean until much later – and it had nothing to do with sex." 

Sam blows out a breath and turns a fake smile on Cas. "Your turn." 

"Truth," Cas says, and before it's even out of his mouth, Dean mumbles, "Of course."

"What?" Cas asks. "Did I choose incorrectly? I thought the entire point was that you could make a choice."

"Well, yeah," Dean says. "But truth is _boring_. And safe. You're just choosing truth because there's no risk in it for you."

Sam scoffs, and Dean shoots him a quick glare. He turns it on Cas for good measure, just in case he was planning on saying something.

"Do you enjoy sex, Cas?" Sam asks.

Dean feels completely unbalanced. How did this get so out of hand? He doesn't want to talk, he wants to move, he wants to –

"I enjoy your enjoyment."

Wait, what? Dean already knows about Cas and sex, but that just sounds weird.

"You mean, you like facilitating other people's orgasms, but you've never had one yourself."

"Well," Cas hedges, glancing at Dean. Sam looks at Dean, too, with something approaching disappointment.

"Hey, I've tried," Dean says. "Don't give me that look like I'm some kind of asshole. I've tried everything I know and gone looking for more. Nothing has worked."

Sam's face goes from accusing to thoughtful and Dean's excitement ratchets up a notch. If Sam can figure out how to get Cas to fire on all cylinders… Dean will feel like a complete jerk, but he'll make up for it. Over and over again, forever.

"Truth or dare, Dean," Sam says. 

Dean's a little leery of Sam's dares after the last one, but there's no way he has another "singing with your dick" one up his sleeve, so Dean goes for another dare.

He regrets it when he ends up singing Taylor Swift and trying to dance on the bed without falling off. He doesn't even ask why Sam knows that he knows all the words to Shake It Off.

When Sam offers up another truth, Dean goes with the first thing that comes to mind: "When did you start seeing Cas's wings?"

Sam ducks his head. "I don't know exactly. I think it had something to do with Gadreel." He shakes his head a little, and adds, "But the first time I remember actually noticing them was when he took the remainder of Gadreel's grace out of me. I felt safe, for some reason, even though I was almost sure I was going to die. And that's when I saw his wing covering me."

Sam is looking down at the comforter, picking at an imaginary piece of lint. Before Dean can even try to figure out what to say, Cas rushes forward, cupping Sam's face in his hands and pressing a closed-mouth kiss to his lips. "If it is comforting to you, know that I have sheltered you with my wings many times, and I offer them to you whenever you have need or desire of them."

Dean's being pulled in twenty directions at once; he can't even get his guts straight from one vaguely uncomfortable emotional moment to the next, and when Cas gives Sam another peck on the lips, turns his soul-gazing stare on Dean, and says, "Truth," Dean can't help blurting out something that's been nagging him since he and Cas first started their… whatever.

"Why me?"

It's Sam that distracts him, his face pinching up uncomfortably. He shoots out a hand to rest on top of Dean's, probably wanting to hug him or something, but Cas moves in before Sam can get there. He kneels in front of Dean and puts his hands on Dean's face, making him bow his head to meet the kisses he drops all over Dean's face; his forehead, eyes, cheeks.

"I do not love you because of who or what you are, Dean. I simply love you. It is an act I perform with forethought, every day. Perhaps we were fated to be so entwined. Perhaps it was chance. Perhaps our own choices led us to it. I don't think that matters. However our paths crossed, what matters is that I have chosen to love you, as you have chosen to love me." 

Dean keeps his eyes closed. His heart is thumping erratically in his chest, and there are tears threatening behind his eyes. He is afraid. Of what, he doesn't know, but this is like the slowest, most elegant torture ever devised, and he is certain he won't come out of it whole. 

"Truth or dare, Dean," Cas whispers into his ear.

Dean swallows. He should say truth. He should offer something to Cas, and to Sam. But the fear wins, and he licks his lips and says, "Dare."

Cas kisses him on the forehead again and sits back, leaning against the headboard and stretching out his legs. "Kiss your brother."

Dean opens his eyes and grins, because clearly Cas is too distracted to realize that didn't work the first time.

"Like you kiss me."

Dean's smile slides right off his face, and his breath starts hitching again. Damn it, Cas knows how to fuck him up in four words or less.

Then Dean remembers something he and Cas started doing a couple of months ago. There was some night where Cas had decided to kiss every part of Dean, and it had been a little odd, really, because he hadn't even used tongue or anything, just placed small little pecks all over Dean's body. The last place he kissed was the center of Dean's palm, and it had tickled a little, so Dean's fingers had twitched and brushed Cas's cheek. 

Since then, one or the other of them would do it every couple of days, usually instead of a good morning kiss, or a quick goodbye before heading out to get groceries or go on a routine hunt.

Dean grabs Sam's hand and turns it palm up, taking a minute to look at how huge Sam's mitts are, just like the rest of him. Dean smiles down at it, noticing Sam's fingers twitching, just like his did. He brings Sam's hand to his mouth, bending forward just a little to meet it, and places a kiss in the center of Sam's palm, appreciating the unexpected whuff of air from Sam when Dean's lips touch his skin.

When he looks up, Cas looks both pleased and annoyed. Dean's not sure why he'd be pleased, but the annoyed part was exactly what he was going for, so he puts on a smirk, and suddenly his world feels a little more normal than it has for the last ten minutes or so.

"Dean," Cas says disapprovingly, but before he can get any more out, Sam practically shouts "Dare!" and raises his eyebrows at Cas.

Dean's stomach drops, and while he's not sure what Sam's evil plan _is_ , he knows there's definitely a plan and it's most definitely evil. Cas doesn't seem to know what it is either, since he doesn't give Sam a dare right away, and just stares at Sam with confusion written all over his face. 

Finally Sam's eyebrows must translate something into Cas-speak, because Cas gets the proverbial light bulb over his head and says, "Sam, kiss your brother."

And Dean's stomach drops right through the floor. He knows he's not supposed to protest someone else's dare, but he can't help saying, "Just wait one minute –"

Which gets cut off abruptly by Sam doing some kung fu shit where he contorts himself around so he's facing Dean, and at the same time, grabs Dean by the hips and yanks him forward until he's sitting on Sam's lap, which is both freaky weird and kind of hot.

Sam is staring at Dean's lips like he's going to devour them, and Dean's brain has a moment of violent protest again, but this time all he can get out is "Huh-uh," before Sam crashes their mouths together, shifting one of his hands to Dean's cheek, a feather-light touch that Dean responds to automatically, opening his mouth to let Sam in.

As soon as the kissing starts, the wrestling starts. Sam is fucking eager, pushing against Dean, trying to get his tongue halfway down Dean's throat, and Dean only ever has one reaction to being pushed around, and that's to push back. 

They struggle against each other for a while, each gaining the upper hand and inexplicably falling away before they can make the most of it, and after a minute or two, Dean's hard and grinding himself forward into Sam, rolling his hips to get sweeter friction, and then Sam gets with the program, tilting himself into every thrust of Dean's, setting the rhythm to really get Dean revved up.

When they finally break apart, lifetimes later, Dean's huffing and puffing like he's axed a whole coven of witches. He shoots a glance over at Cas, who is watching the two of them with a vague sort of interest. "Maybe we should put a time limit on the dares," Dean says.

"Or we could make this the last round," Sam says, worming his hand between them and palming Dean's dick.

"Yeah, okay," Dean says, scooting backward off Sam's lap. It takes a little shifting around to get himself comfortable, now that he's hard. He flags a little when Cas asks for his usual truth, but that doesn't last long, because Sam attacks Cas with a barrage of questions, asking about Cas's various levels of arousal during particular sensations.

"He likes breathing," Dean interrupts. They stop chattering back and forth and turn to stare at him. He shrugs. "That was the first time he got hard, when I breathed on him."

Sam's eyes get huge, but Cas doesn't change, not one iota. He just looks like he's taking a math test. "What?" Dean asks. Sam's eyes cut over to Cas, and he puts on his innocent face – the one Dean can never understand how people don't see right through it.

"What?" Dean asks, feeling grumpy now. "Did you…"

As soon as he starts to ask the question, he knows what it is. Cas went to Sam back when they first started out, trying to figure out how to make sex work between them. That must have been one of the tidbits Sam gave him.

"Truth or dare, Dean," Sam says before Dean can get anything else out.

Part of Dean wants to say truth. He wants Sammy to know he won't lie to him, not about the important stuff, and he wants to be able to say this scares the crap out of him, but he doesn't care because it's worth it just to see Sam smile. He wants to be someone Sam is proud of. But then again, he thinks maybe he can say that without words.

"Dare."

Sam smiles, a genuine smile that Dean thinks might even mean that he knows what Dean was thinking, and that it's okay. 

"Strip."

Dean can't comprehend the word for a second. He tries to put it in context, and he just can't. 

"Get naked, Dean," Sam says, one huge paw reaching out toward Dean's pajama pants.

Dean swats it away and comes back with, " _You_ get naked," which Sam does, and Dean groans as he realizes he's given away his last chance to get Sam back for the "I'm a little teapot" fiasco.

At least Sam struggling out of his boxers provides a distraction for him to wiggle out of his pajama pants – it's surprisingly hard to strip with three people on a queen bed – and at the end of it, they're both naked and there's a pool of something rising up in his guts, something not-so-nice threatening to choke him. He keeps a lid on it – Sam doesn't seem to have any trouble just sitting on the bed cross-legged with his junk hanging out, so Dean has to have at least that much cool, despite feeling like he might be engulfed by this strange mood.

"Truth or dare," he says to Cas, finally turning to look at him. He looks calm and relaxed, which should settle Dean but doesn't. He's trying to think of anything to ask Cas, something that might wipe out this terrible lightness that's rising in his chest.

"Dare."

Dean blinks. Well, then. 

"Well, get naked, I suppose."

Cas beams at him, pulling his shirt off awkwardly over his head and then kicking his way out of his pants. When he's done and they're all three naked on the bed, Dean knows this is it, it's his last chance to say something, to offer one small concession to Cas and Sam, who have given him so much.

"Truth or dare, Dean," Cas says, not quite a whisper.

Dean licks his lips. Swallows. "Truth."

"I love you."

"That's not a question, Cas."

Cas smiles, the weird Mona Lisa smile he has that freaks Dean out more than a little bit. "No, it's not."

Dean's heart is still thumping away in his chest, apparently missing the memo that he doesn't actually have to say any words, that Cas is willing to let him communicate in other ways, the way he does with Sam. 

"Give me a dare, Cas," Sam says, and Dean can't help interrupting, because there's really only one thing left to do here.

"Make Cas come."

Sam turns a blinding smile on Dean, and says, "Gladly."

It's probably just that Dean expects Sam to go to town on Cas, but when Sam turns his greedy look on Dean, the fear that's been flirting around the edges of his consciousness comes to the fore, and he scoots backward to get away. 

Doesn't seem to bother Sam, though, who just follows until Dean's back is against the headboard and there's nowhere left to go.

"I said Cas," Dean squeaks, and Sam gives him a knowing smirk.

"I know," Sam says, and puts his hands on Dean's arms, holding him still and leaning forward.

"Sam!" Dean whisper-shouts.

"I know," Sam says again, and presses his mouth against Dean's. The feeling that's been rising in his chest overflows and Dean can feel everything open up, his heart and soul, blossoming under Sam's attention, and it terrifies him.

He kisses back, desperately, trying to get to the response from earlier when Sam kissed him, the easy rivalry that overcame this drowning feeling. Sam's not pushy this time, though, he's… sweet. Dean doesn't go in for the slow and sweet kind of sex most of the time – or he hadn't, before Cas – but it feels like Sam wants something from him, and God help him, Dean wants to give it to him.

Sam pulls away. "Trust me, big brother," Sam says, and Dean closes his eyes. Sam never calls him that, it's a sore spot most of the time. "When Cas gets going, we're going to need you prepped and ready."

That makes his eyes snap back open, and watching Sam root through the bedside drawer makes him squirm. It's not that he's ashamed of having a toy collection, it's just that he's completely ashamed of having a toy collection.

"No plug, huh?" Sam says, doing that thing where he takes the most embarrassing information about Dean in stride and it fucks with Dean's head. Sam's acceptance never lessens his embarrassment, but it makes him less afraid. "S'okay, we'll figure it out."

He turns to Cas and says, "Help me out here." Cas scoots closer, sitting cross-legged on Dean's right. "Keep him busy." 

Cas smiles and unfolds himself along Dean's side, a warm presence that soothes Dean just a little. Dean looks away from Sam long enough to kiss Cas, regretting it as Sam insinuates himself between Dean's legs. The tide of fear rises like bile and he has to control his automatic reaction to push Sam away.

"Let him watch," Sam says, and Cas abruptly ends their kiss. When Dean opens his eyes, Cas is still there, waiting to meet his gaze. Dean takes a deep breath, and nods at Cas, permission to do whatever it is he's going to do next.

Dean's fairly certain that Cas has discovered every possible thing Dean likes – several of which Dean didn't know about before Cas – and has a cross-indexed list in his head. Most of them are standard turn-ons, handjobs and blowjobs and kissing and rubbing. Some of them are a little odd, at least to Dean, things like having his ass grabbed firmly, or teeth scraped down his upper spine. All in all, Dean figures Cas can get him to come in less than two minutes if he puts his mind to it. He usually likes to draw things out, though, so Dean sucks in a breath when Cas goes straight for a blowjob, his hands firm on Dean's hips (another one of Dean's kind of weird turn-ons).

Dean's a big fan of moving fast, so he takes a second to close his eyes and appreciate the way Cas is working him over, sloppy and eager. Then Sam says, "Good, Cas," and Dean's composure is shattered, the fear rising up in him again, but somehow making things even better, especially when he feels Sam's hands on his knees, gently spreading him open.

"A little birdie told me you want to get fucked," Sam says conversationally. 

Dean leaves his eyes closed. He's been fucked before; his first time with some random dude is in his top ten. He's been trying to figure out how to reproduce that particular experience since he and Cas got together with no real luck. Toys are fine, and feel good, but just don't work the same. 

He nods his head, opening his eyes to watch Cas, not daring to catch Sam's eye. He doesn't want to know how Sam knows, or think about the fact that it has to have been Cas that told him. 

"Me too," Sam says, which is honestly the last thing Dean expected Sam to say, even though he saw Cas work Sam over with his favorite dildo a couple of days ago. It's not even that the information is that unexpected, it's that Sam has been all bossy since the last dare, and Dean wasn't expecting him to give something like that up. He reluctantly looks up at Sam, and Sam smiles, a reassuring sort of smile Dean's seen him give victims and witnesses a million times. 

It occurs to him that somehow he's been labeled the skittish one here and Sam is trying to reassure him, or get him to work through whatever issues keep bubbling up, and that pisses him off. 

"Stop treating me like I'm going to break," Dean says. "Besides – this isn't about me, this is about Cas, so get a move on."

The surprise that crosses Sam's face is only there for a second, but Dean's glad to see it because the smirk Sam gives him afterward gives him second thoughts about the whole breaking thing. 

"You're slacking, Cas," Sam says, and things shift suddenly as Cas slides his hands under Dean's ass, grabbing hard and shoving him up into Cas's mouth. 

"Fuck," Dean says, eyes closed again because watching Cas just makes his them cross. He's glad he did when Sam runs his hands down the insides of his thighs, bringing up gooseflesh in his wake.

"Yeah," Sam says, and he sounds less completely in control than a second ago, which is awesome. It's comforting to know that Dean's not the only one about to fall over the edge here. And then Sam says, "Spread him for me," and Dean can't really get it together to do more than make incoherent noises until Sam presses his lubed finger in.

Sam opening him up is different than Cas; Sam is probing, curious. Not that Cas doing it isn't good, but it's… consistent. Cas find something that works and does it the same way every time, which is not a bad thing, except… 

Coherent thought goes out the window as Sam finds his prostate and starts the serious massage, drowning everything in a warm sort of pleasure that soaks into his body and turns everything up to eleven. Dean can feel his hips helping out, reaching for more back against Sam's fingers and up into Cas's mouth.

"Slow it down, Cas," Sam says after a few infinite minutes of spiraling sensation. "We're almost there."

Dean's lost most of his conscious thought. He's just been floating in how good he feels. But hearing Sam's voice crashes him right back down again, and his eyes open involuntarily. Seeing Sam intent on opening him up, one corner of his lip tucked under his teeth in concentration... it's confusing. It's hot, and as soon as he actually recognizes that fact, he's embarrassed and ashamed of himself and guilt piles on because that's the way he's wired. 

It doesn't matter what he's feeling though, because Sam's hit the jackpot – the extra-thick dildo Cas bought when they were experimenting with things, stretching Dean further than Sam's fingers alone could do. It's familiar, the feeling of stretch from that particular dildo, and it makes him sweat.

Sam gets it as far in as it will go – it feels like it's stuck in Dean's throat, for fuck's sake – and says, "Okay, Cas, you're done. Come over here." He backs up just a little, making just enough space for Cas to wriggle into. "Dean, keep yourself busy."

 _Finally._ Dean will never turn down something that makes him feel good, but it's taken a lot of practice with Cas to get used to being taken care of. Eventually he gave up on trying to do anything for Cas while Cas was doing things for him; it didn't faze Cas and it frustrated Dean. Instead, he started things with Cas, moved as slow as he could, and when Cas turned the tables, he laid back and breathed into whatever Cas had planned.

But as much as he's tried everything on Cas, and even gotten a reaction here and there, he's never really gotten him even to the start of something like an orgasm, and he doesn't know whether he's hoping Sam can do it, or hoping Sam can't. He's going to feel like a heel if Sam can. But if he can't… Dean doesn't want to think about what that means for them. 

"Here," Sam says, as he gets Cas exactly where he wants him. They're now both between Dean's spread legs, and that tendril of guilt and shame that's been writhing around in his guts moves south. "Take one last look at Dean." 

Cas does, dispassionately, which is nothing new to Dean and doesn't bother him, at least until he shifts his gaze onto Sam, who is looking down at him ravenously. "Not one more thought of Dean's pleasure, Cas." Cas starts to stutter something but Sam talks right over him. "Don't worry, Cas. Dean will be taken care of. _I promise._ "

Dean shivers at Sam's commanding tone. He'd watched the kid get fucked with a dildo by Cas less than two days ago, how is it he can do this, too? Dean is shit at ordering people around in bed. In the field, yes, but in bed? He's missing whatever gene has the bossy bedroom voice.

"Besides," Sam says, bring his lips close to, but not touching, Cas's shoulder, "Dean likes to watch."

Dean does like to watch, and he is very much enjoying this show. Cas is on his knees in front of Dean, and Sam is on his knees behind Cas. It points up how huge Sam is, but still leaves Cas as the main focus. Sam's been planning this, Dean would bet.

"Now," Sam says, his mouth still close to Cas's skin, but not touching, "I want you to concentrate on your own pleasure." Sam moves his mouth as he speaks, ghosting over Cas's skin. "The feelings that come from your body. Nothing else." Sam shifts sides, moving over to Cas's other shoulder. "That is the only thing I want you to think about. Can you do that?" 

"Yes," Cas says simply. Dean's holding his breath, because Cas is still the puzzle piece that doesn't fit here. Dean is stuffed full of a huge dildo, his dick still wet from Cas's spit, and all kinds of funny things going on in his guts. Sam is hungrily watching Dean over Cas's shoulder, adding to whatever is going on in Dean's insides, but Cas is just Cas. Obedient and slightly curious, but not into the proceedings at all. Dean keeps his eyes on Sam; he knows this is just how Cas is, but he doesn't think he'll be able to stand it if Sam can't make this work.

"Close your eyes, Cas." 

Cas does as he's told, and Sam starts by breathing on Cas's neck. Cas shivers, and his body suddenly goes tense in a way Dean hasn't seen for months. Sam moves over Cas's neck and shoulders, and wonder of wonders, Cas starts to get hard. Dean's tried the breath thing a few times, but not for a while. It takes a long time to get to Cas, and he gets impatient and starts pushing Dean off.

"That's it," Sam says, the words floating over Cas's skin. Cas's mouth drops open a little, and Dean can feel his dick perk up. Maybe Sam can do this. "Keep concentrating."

Sam finally drops a kiss on the cap of Cas's shoulder, and follows it up with a bite. Cas shifts in an instant, his face all concentration again. That is one thing Dean learned about Cas. Switching gears too quickly meant you lost all your momentum and had to start again. He can feel his stomach lurch.

"Concentrate," Sam scolds, his teeth still lightly on Cas's muscle. He brings up a hand to Cas's chest, though, stroking the skin with a feather-light touch. "What's your body saying, Cas?"

Cas's face is still crinkled up in concentration, but his body is starting to tense again, the muscles of his stomach trembling under Sam's fingers. Cas puts a hand on Sam's arm. "I don’t understand."

Sam breathes on Cas's shoulder and Cas shudders. "That's because you aren't listening. Just listen. Your body knows what to do."

Cas's face smoothes out and Dean can see the moment he starts really getting it – as Sam's hand teases, getting closer and closer to his dick, his mouth drops slowly open, and Cas's grip on Sam's arm tightens. 

"That's it," Sam says, soothing. "Just take it all in. Feel it."

Dean can't see what Sam's other hand is getting up to, but he thinks maybe Sam is purposely trying to overwhelm Cas. Dean only tried that once, and it backfired spectacularly, ending up in an hour-long lecture about whales. 

Dean keeps his eyes on Cas, finally taking himself in hand as Cas's breathing starts to turn ragged. He's not surprised Sam's the one that brought this out in Cas, but he's a little jealous that he hasn't been able to do it himself. 

It takes a long time, Dean thinks, though time is weird for him during sex. He could watch Sam do this to Cas all day, watch Cas's reactions cross his face as his body does things Dean's never seen before, all guided by Sam's whispered direction and his hands smoothing over Cas's skin. Dean's still stroking himself, haphazardly because he doesn't want to get too excited – his turn's later, and he just has to stay primed until then.

"Sam," Cas says when Sam finally puts a hand on his dick. His voice is wrecked. Dean is insanely jealous that it's Sam's name Cas said that way first, at least until Sam gives him a knowing look and whispers something in Cas's ear. Cas opens his eyes and looks down, sweeping a long, slow look up Dean's body, and says, reverently, "Dean."

Dean flushes, his whole body on fire, just like that, and Cas groans, his breath hitching hard. "Dean," he says, one shaking hand moving to rest on Dean's knee. Dean wishes he could touch Cas – he wants to feel Cas's body under his hands – but he reminds himself they have time to figure all this out. He'll spread Cas out on the bed and make him come until he passes out some other day.

Sam's handjob is ridiculously rhythmic, nothing to write home about, even, just kind of slow and firm, at least until he whispers something against Cas's neck, and Cas starts to shake, tipping his head back and coming all over Dean's thighs. Fuck. 

Sam puts his arms around Cas and Cas crumples into the cage of them, his breathing fast and uneven. Dean can't even figure out how he feels about all of this – disappointed in himself but relieved that Cas's body can even do that and that's not even counting the weird excited/terrified mix that's churning because he knows it's his turn next.

Sam helps Cas gently down to the bed, settling him on his side so he can see them. Cas has already started to come back, the soft look on his face already turned to curiosity when he looks at Sam's hand resting on Dean's knee. 

Sam leans in, and Dean keeps his eyes locked on Cas, because he doesn't think he can do this if he's looking at Sam. He's not turned on enough to forget about the fact that this is his brother – he's not sure it's even possible to do that, even when Sam leans in and licks some of Cas's come off Dean's thigh.

It might be leftovers from Cas, but Sam's hands are firm and gentle. There's a confidence to Sam's touch that eases the fear Dean's been feeling on and off for the last three days. He probably wouldn't really be able to explain it, but he doesn't have to, because Sam seems to know exactly what he needs.

Sam leans in and takes Dean in his mouth, pulling the dildo back, and Dean's head falls back automatically. Fuck, he's gone from intellectually invested in this whole scenario to incoherent with how much he wants to get fucked. 

Sam indulges him, pulling the dildo out and setting it on the bedside table with a thump. Dean can't process more than movements and feelings. He's still got guilt and shame living in his gut, but it's fighting a losing battle against how much he wants this, and it's blown out of the water when Sam finally pushes inside. Dean squeezes his eyes shut and concentrates on the stretch, on the easy glide that means Sam's used probably half their bottle of lube.

As usual, Cas comes to the rescue as Dean thinks he's about to shake apart. He inchworms closer until he's pressed against Dean's side, his coolness a relief against Dean's overheated skin. He presses a kiss to Dean's arm and grabs Dean's dick, expertly bringing him to the brink in a couple of strokes.

"Dean," Sam says softly, and Dean doesn't want that, he doesn't want to hear his little brother's breathy voice, no, not now. He keeps his eyes down, looking at the top of Cas's head and tries to drown it out.

"Dean, _look at me_ ," Sam commands. 

There's a moment of fear, his body going stiff and still and Dean thinks he might die, right here. He has to make the choice, though, he knows he does, so he lifts his head off the bed. The picture of Sam looming over him is overwhelming, so he picks some small thing to concentrate on. Sam's mouth, slightly open, like he's getting ready to give Dean another order, or maybe just breathless for Dean to obey the last one.

Dean shifts his gaze then, to really see Sam, to see his hands on Dean's hips and his hair in his face and to watch him slowly, carefully, take Dean apart as he slides in. 

"Sammy," he breathes, as everything comes crashing in. Sam's face is a complicated mix of emotions, shifting through pain and longing before settling on determination. That's the last thing Dean sees before he comes harder than he can ever remember. Sam comes right after, hands digging into Dean's hips for long moments before he flops forward onto Dean, knocking the breath out of him.

Dean stares up at the ceiling for a long moment while he waits to get the feeling back in all his limbs. When he does, he grabs Cas's hand with his right hand, and worms his left arm out from under Sam and wraps it around his back, curling his fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. 

Dean's always thought of Sammy as _his_ but he realizes now he has it all wrong. _He_ belongs to _Sam_ , his heart, his soul, and now his body, too – and Sam is a possessive motherfucker. 

He hadn't known at all what he was getting himself into, but surrounded by Cas and Sam as he is, he doesn't really care.

~~~


	66. Dear Diary Day

~~~

Castiel had drawn the sigil with his grace when Sam sat down on the bed that first night. He doesn't think Sam saw it – he was lost in his own mind, the mental machinations necessary to push him over the edge and into their arms. He does think Sam felt it, though. Sam somehow understood Castiel's declaration of the three-day requirement to be one of magic; Dean mistook it for decadence.

Dean often mistakes Castiel's intentions for sex. He is an innately sexual being, much more so than Sam. Sam is a being of the mind, and his body is an afterthought at best, though he tries his best to anchor himself in it.

Castiel had thought perhaps that would be how they spent their time: three days of sexual exploration. He certainly looked forward to learning about Sam's preferences the way he learned about Dean's. He had vaguely considered the human taboo about incest, but when Sam admitted to a physical relationship with Dean in his other lifetimes, the sexual aspect seemed inevitable, despite Dean's misgivings. He looked forward to understanding how the brothers fit together in this brave new world, and finding his own place in it.

To be baldly truthful, Castiel felt it likely the physical aspects might be contained within their brotherly bond. He has felt Dean's growing dissatisfaction over the last several months, as well as his long-held hope that once their relationship had reached its final form, Sam would somehow be the solution to his frustration. Castiel hadn't considered that Dean actually expected Sam to "fix" him. 

Most likely this is because Castiel does not consider himself to be broken. He was no more broken previously than he is fixed now. He is simply different. Sam did remind him of some simple lessons about his senses, but that wasn't what allowed him to finally tap into the pleasures of his corporeal form. No, that was the ritual, the completion of the bond. The gift he received was the ability to be truly present in his human body. 

The Winchesters will never understand what it is to be an angel, how it feels to contain himself in a human body. It is like wearing clothing that too restrictive and yet never sits on the body appropriately. His wings always feel cold when he is in his human body, and on occasion he feels almost as if he could remove them.

Castiel takes back his thought. Dean perhaps is fully in his body, unable to understand, but Sam has been thrust to the back of his own mind, forced to watch his body do things while it wasn't under his control. Sam could possibly understand, if Castiel could put appropriate words to it. 

The ritual came to fruition just as Sam accepted the challenge of Castiel's orgasm. Castiel could feel himself sinking into his body, the weight enough to drown him, the sensation overwhelming. He could not help but call out Sam's name, a tribute to the one who could show him such pleasures.

Sam's whispered directive, to look at Dean, to really look at the man with whom he'd had sex all these months, led to the discovery of desire, and that one shift meant that everything could build. He could know anticipation. He could know longing. He could look at Dean the way Dean often looked at him, as something desirable and potentially fulfilling.

The combination of Sam's soft words and his breath on Castiel's skin had been intoxicating, but it was the whispered Enochian spell allowing him to touch Castiel's celestial body that brought Castiel to completion. One simple touch of Sam's hand to the base of his wing and Castiel's emotions had spun out of control, his physical body able to reach its release.

Dean's gift had become evident shortly afterward. He had glanced at Castiel, a simple thing he does often, a reassurance, perhaps. But instead of looking back to Sam, whom he had been rearranging on the bed so he might sleep, he kept staring at Castiel, his eyes flicking beyond Castiel's human form. 

So Dean must have received the gift of being able to see Castiel's celestial body. Castiel is still unsure how he feels about the Winchesters having that ability. It still occasionally dumbfounds Sam, making true communication impossible. They have not addressed it yet – Castiel is watching the two of them sleep for the last time before they must get up and continue on their lives outside this nest. 

The only gift not yet manifested is Sam's, and Castiel is most uncertain of that one. His own gift could have been expected, knowing the humanness of his mates. Dean's, too, might have been anticipated, especially as Sam had used his gift to such advantageous effect during their lovemaking.

Castiel has doubts as to what Sam might receive from him and Dean; they are so very different, they have little common ground which could be gifted to Sam. And Sam already has such altered perceptions that it might be months or even years before it becomes evident as to what the gift actually is.

Castiel covers them with his wings and lets them sleep as long as they can. Eventually hunger or the need to urinate will drive them out of the bed, and as wistful as Castiel is for remaining this close to them for so long, he is looking forward to tasting food with his newfound human senses. 

Sam stirs, reaching for Castiel's wing and pulling it up like a blanket. The spell has apparently not worn off yet; he wonders how long it will last. It would be awkward to have Sam touching his wings while they are in public, or doing things that require Castiel's concentration.

There's no point in worrying about it now, though, so he covers Sam more thoroughly his wing, allowing him to grip some of the feathers in his sleep. He pulls one the discarded blankets over himself; awareness of temperature variance is one of the less appreciated parts of his gift from the Winchesters. 

Dean's hand gropes backward and squeezes Castiel's thigh. "Settle down, Cas," he says, attempting to pull Castiel closer. "C'mere."

Castiel scoots in, blanket trailing behind him like a cape, and allows Dean's warmth to bleed into him. He has a brief thought of fitting himself into the space between Sam and Dean, where it must be perfectly warm, but that is not his place yet. They will still be working out the dynamics of their bond for some time to come, and he lets the thought warm him.

~~~


	67. Elephant Appreciation Day

~~~

Sam wakes up _starving_. Objectively, he knows he's just normally hungry, like he is every morning when he wakes up, but he hasn't eaten in three days. He feels like he could eat everything in the entire kitchen.

Dean is still asleep, and Cas… looks like he's asleep too. Sam stares at him for a long time, trying to figure out if Cas is just meditating with his eyes closed or if he is really sleeping. 

After a while, Sam gets restless, so he scoots out from under Dean's arm and grabs his clothes on the way out of the bedroom. A shower is going to feel _so_ good.

~~~

Half an hour later, Sam's alone in the kitchen, debating what to make for his first breakfast in three days. He decides on Dean's favorite; pancakes are the quickest anyway.

He throws half a pound of bacon into a pan as he cuts up the last two bananas for himself, and mixes up the pancake batter. Once Dean's short stack is on the plate, he throws some chocolate chips into the batter for Cas. 

The plan had been breakfast in bed, but Dean and Cas wander into the kitchen just as Sam is flipping Cas's pancakes, so he directs them to set the table, and delivers their short stacks and the plate of bacon while he waits for his own pancakes to be ready.

The pancakes taste like the best thing he's ever eaten. It'd been tough to get used to not eating; just because he wasn't hungry didn't mean he didn't want food. 

They're quiet as they eat, sitting around the little kitchen table. Sam'd been pretty comfortable with things until the silence started blanketing them. He hadn't even considered that it might be awkward. 

And it's not like he cares. Cas is awkward about eighty percent of the time, and Dean is awkward one hundred percent of the time, if they're talking about feelings. He knows the issue is the incest, for Dean at least. And he gets it. It's never bothered Sam because their lives are so fucked up, what's one more thing? They're going to be together until they both die anyway (and then in Heaven, if the one trip was any indication), so really, what's the big deal? He's had his hands inside his brother's guts, sewing him up… sex is just not even close the that kind of intimate knowledge of his brother's body.

Dean's always been different though, and Sam can guess that it's because he half considers himself Sam's parent. It's not really like that for Sam, but he can understand. On an intellectual level. He just has to figure out the best way to get Dean over it. Sometimes letting it sit works; Dean does actually work through a lot of shit on his own. Sometimes Sam has to poke him a bunch of times. Sometimes Sam has to actively push Dean about it, make Dean fight him until he realizes he's just fighting himself.

"So," Cas says into the silence. It's an affectation he's picked up from Sam. It's cute, actually. "I believe we need to address the elephant in the room."

He's gotten better with his metaphors and idioms. Cas makes such an effort on the small, human things; Sam loves that about him.

"Incest," Cas continues, and Dean chokes on a bite of bacon.

"Dude. You can't just… _say_ it like that."

He can, though, and he did. That's why Cas is such a perfect fit with the two of them. 

"We should probably talk about it, though," Sam says, because it's not fair to make Cas do _all_ the heavy lifting in their conversations. "I mean, I could see how it twisted you up in knots back there."

Dean takes a couple of breaths, staring down at his plate, and then picks up his fork and cuts a very deliberate triangle of pancake and spears it. "Yeah, well. It's been thirty years of never thinking of you like that. Excuse me if it's gonna take a while to get used to."

So apparently Alistair didn't have Lucifer's creative flair when it came to torture. Sam's not sure if he's glad for that or not. Like a lot of things about hell, it's complicated.

It's only fair that Dean get some time to adjust. Anyway, just because Sam can remember years upon years of fucking his brother doesn't mean he's ready for the way Dean tucks him in close when he crawls into bed and lets him be the small spoon.

"What about you?" Dean asks. "This doesn't bother you?"

Sam shrugs. "I have lots of memories of…" There's a lot of dangling sentences in these sorts of conversations. It's easier to hope Dean won't make him say it out loud.

"Sexual relations with your brother?" Cas finishes, and Sam can't help shaking his head fondly.

"Yeah, Cas. I have lots of memories of sex with Dean."

Dean's eyes light up at that. Sam smiles, because every lifetime with Dean had that in common. Some kind of Pavlovian reaction to anything having to do with sex. The consistency of that particular characteristic in all of his psychodramas is weirdly charming. 

"What was it like? Kinky?"

Sam huffs. "Sometimes. Vanilla sometimes. Always hot, though."

Cas narrows his eyes and Sam shivers. He doesn't know what Cas heard in that confession, but his stomach drops and he's got a nearly uncontrollable urge to run. He's half out of his seat by the time Dean says, "Wait," his voice so full of plaintiveness Sam has to look away from him. 

He stands, but doesn't go anywhere; just having the option of moving makes things a little better. 

"Sam," Cas says, standing. He moves to box Sam in, and Sam swallows his panic. Cas won't hurt him. Cas won't turn into Lucifer and take this away. _Cas won't hurt him._

"Sam," Cas says again, gently this time. Sam hates that he has to be talked to like a skittish animal when he's like this. "It's okay, Sam, I just want to touch you. Is that okay?"

 _No._

Sam doesn't even know whose voice that is. He's terrified of being touched right now, but there's a small, dense part of him that doesn't want to deny Cas. He tries to be still, push himself into Cas's outstretched hand, but he jerks away at the last second. He closes his eyes, trying to force himself to give in, to let Cas get all the way to him.

"What is it?" Dean asks. His voice is soft, but it's not pity-the-victim soft. It's just Sammy-go-to-sleep soft. 

"I heard something," Cas says. "And I think he knows I heard it, and that scares him."

When Sam's eyes shoot open, it takes a second to focus because Dean and Cas are shoulder to shoulder, blocking his exit. He can feel the ponderous ticking of time, his brain slowing everything to a crawl, echoing down a long hallway. "Don't."

"What?" Dean asks, looking vaguely confused. "What did you hear?"

Cas looks Sam up and down, and Sam vaguely wonders if he's doing some kind of inventory of the fragility of Sam's mental state. He'd love to know the results, because he has no idea how he's feeling right now. All he has is the whistling sound of air rushing past in the long, black tunnel that's threating to swallow him.

"He may have had sexual relations with you in Lucifer's psychodramas, Dean, but they were always…" Cas stops and looks at the ceiling, apparently searching for words. Sam knows what he's going to say, and still he's waiting with bated breath to see what word Cas chooses.

After a second, Cas shakes his head and smiles tightly at Sam. "It was never _tender_."

That's it, the blackness creeps in around the edges of his vision and pretty soon Sam is either going to fight his way out of here or pass out, but –

Dean's hands on his wrists is a strangely warm sensation and Sam stares down at them. He can feel Dean's warmth bleed into his freezing cold skin. "Hey," Dean whispers, moving in closer, following as Sam backs up. He keeps pressing forward when Sam's back is against the wall, bringing their bodies together. "Hey, Sammy, it's okay."

Being constrained actually helps. Sam usually curls up when he has one of these attacks, fits himself under his desk or in his closet, or just tucks into himself, arms wrapped around his legs. Having Dean be the barrier between Sam and the outside though, that's better. That's safer.

"Shhh," Dean says, letting his hands travel up Sam's arms slowly. Firmly. "I got you."

Sam nods dumbly. He knows Dean has him. Dean always has him. Has always had him. 

Dean's body is pressing Sam's into the wall, so Sam can feel it when Dean lifts himself up onto the balls of his feet. He has only a microsecond to wonder why before Dean kisses him, a soft, wet kiss with Sam's lower lip between Dean's. It's sweet, a junior high sort of fumbly kiss, and Sam can feel something inside him crack. 

"It's okay," Dean says after he breaks the kiss, probably because Sam's trembling too much to really be able to participate. It doesn't faze Dean in the slightest, he just buries his face in Sam's neck and pulls him in for a hug.

When Sam feels feathers brush his neck, he looks up just in time to see Cas wrap himself around Dean's back, resting his head on Dean's other shoulder. His wings encompass all three of them, and Sam hopes they're ready to stay like this for a long while, because he doesn't plan on moving. Ever.

~~~


	68. Restless Legs Awareness Day

~~~

Dean had honestly thought, after Cas's "three days in bed" shtick, that things would somehow be miraculously better.

He has no idea why; he knows they never stumble onto that kind of luck. 

Things are… different. Dean's gotten comfortable with touching Sam. Just touching, like, petting and cuddling, and sleeping next to him in the bed. That had stopped being weird for him months ago. Sam, on the other hand, seems to have gotten _un_ comfortable with it; Dean figures it's because of that _tender_ thing Cas talked about. 

In any case, Sam can only handle so much of it before he gets tense, like he's going to run. He doesn't run – or at least, not away from them. He runs straight for them, and usually it's his mouth on Dean's dick, and oh, _ohhhhh_ , Dean is not complaining about that. Sam's mouth was made for cocksucking. 

Except… it's Sam. And Sam has this thing where he will look Dean in the eye while he's sucking Dean's dick, and it makes Dean all squirmy inside – and he knows Sam knows it, too. because he gets a little half-grin when Dean goes all tense thinking about Sam's mouth like that. 

Cas seems willing enough to just watch them; he seems to understand as well as they both do that something is going on. One time, when they're sitting next to each other on the couch and Sam crawls up between Dean's legs, Dean helps Cas figure out how to stroke himself while he watches, and Sam keeps his eyes glued to Cas that time. Dean does too, come to think of it.

But today, Dean's had enough. It's his turn to make Sammy squirm, and he knows just how he's going to do it. 

He keeps things cool while they're hanging out; if he doesn't push Sam, they can just binge-watch Leverage without things going to far. Cas keeps his hands in Sam's hair, but Dean probably couldn't keep him from that anyway, and it's not enough to push Sam into fight or flight mode so it's fine.

They're still sleeping together on Dean's bed – not that he really considers it _his_ anymore – and it's always Cas first, then Dean, then Sam. Dean intends to shake that up soon here, but not tonight, because he has plans.

Sam's been curling around the outside of Dean and Cas. It makes sense, considering he's the biggest of the three of them. When he climbs in tonight, though, Dean turns the tables on him, rolling over to face Sam, staring at him and daring him to say something. 

He can see Sam's brain spinning, the way his body goes tense like he might run, and Dean just pats the bed next to him. It takes a minute for Sam to get through whatever mental gymnastics he needs to do, but he scoots over, lying on his back.

It's a cop-out, but in this case, it suits Dean's plan, so he's not going to fight it, yet. He just moves over into Sam's space, throwing an arm over him like he's actually planning to go to sleep. He's only missing Cas's heat at his back for a second – Cas almost immediately shifts over. 

As soon as he does, Dean makes his move, rolling on top of Sam, letting his weight knock the breath out of him. 

"Dean!" Sam squawks.

Dean just waits, lets his weight settle. After a moment he shifts down a couple of inches and wedges his legs between Sammy's, making Sam's breath catch. He drops a kiss on Sam's shoulder. 

That makes Sam tense up; Dean does it again, shifting slightly inward toward Sam's neck. 

"Dean?" Sam asks, the uncertainty in his voice firming Dean's resolve. They might not be able to fix all this in one go, but they've got to stop avoiding it to have any chance.

"Stay," Dean says. He knows it's a big ask; he knows Sam always thinks of running any time Dean does anything sentimental and not downright sexy. "I don't want to hold you down, Sammy. I want _you_ to hold you down."

He waits a beat, seeing if Sam will answer. Sam nods, curling his hands into the sheets and gripping them tight enough to turn his hands white.

Dean pulls Cas in, hoping he can clue in to what Dean's trying to do here, and figure out something for himself. 

This isn't without sacrifice on Dean's part. He's accepted that he's going to have sex with Sam, that this is what they are now, but it doesn't keep that little voice of shame from rising up every time he starts. And it's this stuff that's the problem, he thinks as he drops a kiss at the corner of Sam's neck. Deliberate, slow, seduction of Sam is different than breakneck blowjobs and stupidly hot sex. 

Kissing is the hardest. His mind rears back from that every time, and he has to firmly set aside all the guilt and shame that's sitting square in his chest to be able to put his lips on Sam's. Sam breathes out into his mouth, so Dean knows it's hard for him too. 

As always, though, it's what Sam needs that trumps his own discomfort. He can feel Sam's arms straining, his hands twisting back and forth in the sheets. Sam's holding on, so Dean has to hold on, too. 

Dean leans in for another kiss, trying his normal tricks, but it doesn't work with Sam – he can't use the same slick one-two-three he's always used on girls. It feels cheap. He takes time to look over Sam's face instead. His forehead is crinkled up, worried like he always is, and Dean kisses it, rubbing a thumb over the lines to try and smooth away the bad thoughts happening under there.

"Whatcha worried about, Sammy?" he asks. He's not sure he wants to know, but he has to find a way to help Sam get over this.

Sam shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. He goes non-verbal sometimes. Dean knows this but it still takes a deep breath and a stern talking-to in his brain to keep from pushing Sam.

"We love you," Cas says, and Dean looks over at him, surprised. When he looks back at Sam, Sam's eyes are open and he's staring at Cas like he's got three heads. "Let us ground you here," he says, and pulls Sam's hand from the sheet to wrap it in his own. 

Dean takes the cue and does the same with Sam's left, lacing their fingers together. Sam squeezes his hand tightly enough to make it ache, and Dean leans forward to place another kiss on Sam's forehead. 

It's too easy, though. Kissing Sam's forehead isn't what they're here for, it's not what this is. It's Dean copping out. He lowers his eyes to Sam's lips, concentrates on his mouth for a minute, and that seems to ease Sam's worry, too – a little smirk shows up there and when Dean meets Sam's eyes, the worry is gone. Or at least far enough in the back seat that Dean can breathe again.

This shifts things back to Dean, and he's just about sick of himself, so he takes a page out of Cas's book and drops a quick peck on Sam's mouth, taking Sam's jaw in hand and turning his head to the side to kiss his way across Sam's cheekbone, and then down his neck, all little pecks, just the whisper of Dean's lips against Sam's skin.

"Dean," Sam murmurs, and Dean isn't planning on answering, because he kind of wants to hear Sam say his name in that hushed, spellbound way forever.

Cas apparently feels like answering though, because he says again, "We love you, Sam."

Sam's fingers are still wrapped up with his but his death grip has given way to something softer as Dean makes his way down his chest. It's impossible for Dean to keep it strictly clean, though, because there's skin _right there_ and it's _Sam_ and he can't help flicking his tongue out to taste it.

The change in Sam's breathing is immediate – and he shakes his hand out of Dean's, which would bother him, except it immediately comes to rest on his face.

There's been a quiet chorus in the back of his mind, a soft _this is Sam_ that shifts back and forth between guilty and gleeful and now shifts into something new, something awestruck. This is _Sam_ , and Sam is his and he is Sam's and they both of them belong to an angel of the lord. One who is now simply reciting the ways Sam is loved like a litany. 

When Dean glances up at him, he is curled along Sam's side, their hands locked together and muscles straining, and Cas's mouth on Sam's shoulder, kissing it in between quiet reassurances. "Your beauty outshines the stars," and "We are not complete without you," and "Dean needs you as much as you need him," which is true, and not nearly as terrifying as it was yesterday.

His sense of purpose renewed, Dean keeps heading south, Sam's hand on his face, and when he finally reaches his brother's dick, he knows it's time for his first official blowjob. He'd tried with Cas, of course, but it's not the same with someone who never really gets hard. 

Sam's half-hard already and intimidatingly large up close, but Dean's got a mission now, and he's going to see it through. 

He licks Sam first, which turns out hilarious, because Sam goes from half hard to fully hard in a split second, and his dick leaps up and smacks Dean in the mouth. Dean takes the hint and wraps his lips around Sam, still listening for Sam's breathing. It's uneven, hitching, which is great, and then Sam's saying his name, over and over and Dean is definitely getting off on this. It's slow going, convincing his brain that this is what he and Sam are now, but the worshipful way Sam says his name sure helps.

There's also the muddled sound of Cas's voice, still telling Sam truths that would normally make Dean laugh because they're so cheesy, or make Dean grimace because they're a little too close to home, but right now make him smile because Sam's face is open and Dean's sure the naked desire there is just as much for Cas's words as it is for Dean's mouth on his dick.

It's not like blowjobs are hard in theory, Dean realizes now, it's just that doing anything beyond the basics is going to require a lot more practice to get that finesse. He's stupidly annoyed that his mouth is so small or Sam's dick is so big, or whatever it is that means he has to put his hand around the base of Sam's dick to keep it from choking him. He's less annoyed when Sam's hand drifts into his hair, threading in and pulling gently. 

He finally sets up a rhythm that means he can get his tongue in on the action a little, and Sam shifts underneath him, the tension in his muscles changing from anticipatory and skittish into holding himself back – which is both good and bad and Dean's suddenly determined to learn how to give real blowjobs, how to deepthroat and do all those tricks he took for granted in his partners.

 _Come on, Sammy,_ he thinks, doing his best to speed up, take more, add a little pressure. It works – Sam yanks on his hair and yelps out an urgent little "Dean!" before coming in Dean's mouth.

It's both extremely satisfying and somewhat gross. He's never been into comeplay and not particularly interested in how it tasted, but it's in his mouth already, so there's no point in spitting it out; the taste won't go away. He swallows and pulls off, enjoying Sam's little hiss of annoyance. 

Cas is still muttering into Sam's shoulder, though there's some kind of shift in the whole picture, and when Dean lifts himself up to get a better look, there's no shame, no guilt. Nothing but intense gratitude that this is what his future looks like. It takes all the energy he has left to crawl up Sam's body and drape himself half over his brother, settling in comfortably. 

He's tired; not just from the sex but from whatever rearranging he was doing in his own mind. He thinks maybe he's cracked whatever the issue was. He knows it's not an all or nothing thing, but there's no shame in the way he looks at Sam now, just a mix of things from his normal protective instincts to a general curiosity about what Sam might like, and a sense of thankfulness that he's got enough time to figure it out, assuming they don't do something stupid like start another apocalypse. He considers semi-retirement – not for the first time in his life, but definitely for the first time that isn't just because he's fed up with the job and the toll it takes. No, he wants time with Sam and Cas, and hunting does nothing but shorten that available time and add a million other complications to boot.

He can see Cas's wing cover them, but he can't feel it like before; he wonders if that was part of the binding spell. He'll have to ask later. For now he's just planning on sleeping for a week.

~~~


	69. Angel Food Cake Day

~~~

One of Castiel's least favorite things about being more present in his human body is the hormones and the emotions they elicit. Some emotions are exceptional and he is honored to have them. Love, obviously, and the limitless ways it can present itself, the unfathomable amount of nuance in the sentiments he has about the Winchesters.

Others are at best a nuisance and at worst dangerous. Impatience has grown in him, and he dislikes it immensely, but cannot shake it off without leaving his vessel entirely, and that is not something he has tried since Jimmy's death. The vessel is a human body without a soul, but there is no guarantee that it does not have autonomy, even so. There is the possibility that it might not allow him back in. He doesn't truly believe it – on occasion he stops his heart from beating to see if the body will revolt and start on its own. It has not yet, but that is far from the conclusive proof Castiel requires before he casts aside the body tying him to the physical plane and Dean and Sam. 

Besides, a human lifetime is over in the blink of an eye. Castiel may be able to feel the eddies of time more keenly now, but he has not lost the thousands of years of experience against which it is weighed. Every moment with the Winchesters is precious because it is so short in the larger scheme of things. 

This is the root of the impatience, however. His many years of experience have not given him the ability to separate himself from Sam and Dean, to see them with dispassionate understanding of the time they have left. No, every fleeting moment is precious, and their human physiology cannot grasp how quickly their lives will come to an end, and there is no telling how their passing into the metaphysical realm will change them, and Castiel with them.

So the slow, loping dance of the Winchesters trying to work through their individual and collective issues is nearly painful for Castiel. There is no time for them to waste in these pointless self-recriminations. 

He understands that it is his emotions that has brought this impatience to the fore, that the very reason he is capable of loving these two beings is the reason he cannot bear to watch them wrestle their internal demons when to surrender would allow them joy beyond anything they might imagine. 

Dean is easiest to lead. He is extremely suggestible, and for Castiel to simply speak often of Sam with all the love in his heart, including his physical attributes, the part that makes Dean uneasy, means Dean is acclimating quickly to this new version of their relationship.

Harder is Sam, whose long-held belief that he is damaged and unworthy of their attentions means he has near-constant attacks when they try to demonstrate how they feel. Dean is the only one who can touch Sam during one of the attacks. Castiel does not dwell on the dull stab of jealousy that happens whenever Sam rejects him in this state. 

The only time Castiel was able to touch Sam was when his wings were corporeal. He had never heard of the spell Sam recited in bed that first weekend, but it was a simple string of Enochian that he will never forget. 

He debates his decision while the Winchesters sleep, Sam curled up in Dean's arms, Castiel behind with his wings sheltering them. It is not really a decision, he realizes. He has already bound himself to them in this physical body for the rest of their physical lives, which will likely be short and brutal. Any way he can ease their pain is a requirement, not a luxury.

~~~

When he returns to the bunker, Sam and Dean come running. "Cas?"

"Yes?" he answers. He is not wearing any clothing on the upper half of his body; it fits strangely now, and he is not sure how he will deal with that when he does not have reasonable cause to walk around half-naked.

The Winchesters are staring at him. He's sure it is because his wings are spread – he cannot fold them yet. They are too sensitive. The air currents ruffling his feathers are exquisitely painful.

"What did you do?" Sam asks. It is always Sam whose mind follows the clues doggedly to some conclusion; Dean is still simply staring at Castiel, dumbfounded, no clear thought pattern present.

Castiel would try to make a joke. Even a failed one might lighten the mood. He is in an intense amount of pain, though, so it is impossible. "I got a tattoo."

Sam's face moves immediately into dawning understanding, but Dean's goes from incomprehension to confusion. "A tattoo of what?"

"Sam's spell." 

Castiel is nearly certain now that Sam has retained some minor essence of the angels who have inhabited his body. An inherent understanding of Enochian, for one, and with his surprisingly broad knowledge of witchcraft, he has been able to craft previously unheard of spells. The pure creativity involved is astounding. That is one human trait Castiel would not complain about, should he develop more of it.

Dean is looking back and forth between Sam and Castiel, looking for an answer to his unspoken question. 

"I…" Sam looks sheepish. Embarrassment is one of the sentiments Castiel does not understand, so he speaks plainly. 

"Sam created a spell to manifest my wings on the physical plane. He cast it when we were in bed together, that first time."

Dean's eyes widen with dawning understanding, and he turns to Castiel, his hand raised, as if to touch. "Please don't."

The look of hurt on Dean's face causes an odd desire, one to let Dean have what he wants, despite Castiel's discomfort. He has had this desire before – often, even, around the Winchesters – but never in such a physical way. 

"All right," he says. "But gently, please. They are still extremely sensitive."

That brings out a smirk in Dean, and he touches his fingers to a single feather. Castiel shudders; the sensation is overwhelming, blazing heat searing the entire musculature. 

"Is that why I could see them?" Dean asks. "Sam's spell?" He immediately grasps the importance of that statement and says, a little hysterically, "Does this mean _everyone_ can see them?"

"No," Castiel answers. "You could see them as a result of the ritual. We were all given gifts, and yours was the ability to see my celestial body, similar to the way Sam can. It was his spell that made my wings physical."

Sam nods thoughtfully. He hasn't approached Castiel yet, and there is a furious storm of activity in his brain that Castiel can't quite penetrate. 

"Your connection to your vessel," Sam says, not quite a question. "You are able to experience physical sensations now? That was your gift?"

Castiel nods. 

"And me?" 

Dean turns to look at Sam, hearing the same melancholy in it that Castiel can now feel emanating off of Sam. Castiel frowns. "It does not appear to have manifested yet."

Sam nods, his mouth set in an unhappy line. 

"You have received a gift, Sam," Castiel assures him. "It is simply hidden. Eventually it will manifest and you will know what it is."

Castiel reaches out a wing, curling it around Sam and shepherding him close. "Perhaps your gift is so magnificent, it is waiting to reveal itself when it won't overwhelm you."

Sam smiles, not entirely without sadness. "You're my gift," he says, gently touching one of Castiel's wingbones. "You and Dean. It's more than I deserve."

Castiel pulls Sam into a tight hug, steering Dean into it with his other wing before wrapping them both up tightly. "You are more than we deserve, Sam. You deserve all the heavens and earth, but will have to make do with your brother and I for the time being. Someday I will capture a star for you, to remind you of how special you are."

Sam's muffled laugh eases the tension, and Castiel finds that his wings have already become accustomed to touching the Winchesters. The burning sensation has ceased, and there is a delicate warmth where the two of them are within the circle of his wingspan. 

"So," Dean asks. "Are wings an erogenous zone?"

~~~


	70. Mulligan Day

~~~

"Sam!" Dean shouts, machete still raised, but glancing at where Sam is crumpled on the ground. Damn witches.

"What did you do to him?" he demands, getting in close to the guy, letting his machete do the talking. Cas is behind him, closing in stealthily.

"Oh, just a little spell I stole from a genie," Calvin says, and damn it, Dean doesn't like that at _all_. There's not a lot he hates more than fake realities and dreamworlds. _Hang in there, Sammy, we'll get you out._

"You won't get him out without my say-so."

"Oh yeah?" Dean says. "I'm betting if we separate your head from your neck, that spell will fizzle."

Calvin smiles creepily. It's unnerving. "And I'm telling you that without me to cancel the spell, your brother will be a drooling mess for the rest of his life. Don't worry, though – he's having a grand old time in his own noggin."

He and Sam have gotten themselves and others out of this kind of mindfuck before; he's pretty sure he can do it without the witch, but it's really not the kind of thing he likes to leave up to chance. "What do you want?"

Calvin shrugs. "Give me twenty-four hours. I'll pack up shop, head out of town, and God willing, we shall never meet again."

Dean's pretty sure God wouldn't do anything one way or another, though he really, _really_ wishes He was paying attention sometimes. 

Unfortunately, Calvin isn't just a witch, he's a creepy kid-sacrificing murderer, and Dean's conscience won't allow him to let this piece of garbage go. "Wake Sam up first," he says. 

Calvin laughs, his laugh just as creepy as his smile. Everything about this guy gives Dean the heebie jeebies. "And give up my leverage? I don't think so, Mr. Winchester. And please call off your angel, lest your brother's little fantasy world turn into something darker."

Dean lowers his machete and puts up a hand to stop Cas. Cas wouldn't have acted without Dean's say-so anyway, not with Sam down, but he stops moving in, shifting instead to block the back exit.

"Twenty-four hours," Dean says. "And if Sam doesn't wake up, I'll make it my life's mission to cut your fucking head off."

Uber-creepy witch-dude does an old fashioned half-bow and tip of the hat, and waltzes past Cas and out the back door. 

"Are we really letting him go?" Cas asks.

"Of course not," Dean says. "You follow him. I'm gonna dreamwalk with Sam, wake him up, and then we kill that disgusting sonofabitch. Here," Dean says, throwing the hex bag from Sam's pocket to Cas. "Little extra protection never hurt."

Cas nod and follows the witch out the back door.

~~~

Dean wants a fucking do-over. This day has been shit from start to finish, the flat tire and his ripped jeans and now this. Sam's sprawled out on the couch, looking like he's had too much whiskey, but sleeping peacefully at least.

Dreamroot is weird. Dean can almost always tell when he's not in his own reality; he just has a spidey sense about it, after so many adventures in other timelines and universes, dreams and spells. He can't even put a finger on what it is, just that reality _feels_ different. It's something about the texture of the world, the grime under his fingernails. It's just not _right_. Maybe the creatures who create the trances and spells don't really know what real life is like, so it's always missing something. Whatever it is, he always just knows.

When he finally gets in, Sam is in a bubble in his own mind. Dean can see him, hard at work researching something or other in the bunker, but he can't get into Sam's thought bubble. It's maddening, and he beats on the outside of it, trying to get Sam's attention with no luck. 

His cellphone goes off in his pocket. He's finally learned to keep the thing on vibrate. It's not silent, not by a long shot, but it's idiotic to be given away by a ringtone. It means that it feels like he's in an earthquake inside Sammy's mind, though, so he squeezes his eyes shut, touches his thumb to each one of his fingers on his right hand, and wakes up.

It takes him a second to shake off the dreamworld, and he misses the call. It's Cas, so he calls back immediately. He hopes Cas isn't in trouble. 

"Cas?" he shouts into the phone as soon as Cas picks up. "What's going on?"

"I'm sorry, Dean," Cas says. "It couldn't be helped. He was going to sacrifice another child."

Shit. _Sam._ Dean looks down at his brother, curled up on his side now, arms wrapped around himself. This is bad. This is…

Sam jerks and cries out, a sound that breaks Dean's heart. "Get back here, Cas – we need you to get into his dreams. The dreamroot didn't work."

~~~

When Cas returns, he has the child in tow. "This is Jamaila," he says. "Jamaila, we're going to take you home very soon, okay?"

She's four or five, huge brown eyes and a thicket of curly black hair. She nods at Cas, hiding behind his jacket and peeking out at Dean. "It's okay, Jamaila," Cas says. "Dean is my friend."

"Is he an angel, too?" she asks. 

"No," Cas answers, "but he is a good man, and he will take care of you while I try to fix our friend Sam."

Jamaila nods and comes out from behind Cas to offer her tiny hand to Dean. He shakes it, uncertainly, and she gently takes his wrist and repositions him so she can hold his hand. He grins down at her. "All set?" he asks. 

"Yes, Mr. Dean."

They stand like that and watch as Cas walks over to Sam and plops down next to him on the floor, setting two fingers on his forehead.

"Ow," Jamaila says after a minute, and Dean looks down to see he's clutching her hand entirely too hard for a four-year-old. "It will be okay, Mr. Dean. Castiel is an angel. He can fix your friend."

Dean can't help smiling at her innocent faith. "He's my brother." Off her skeptical look, he adds, "Sam. Not Cas. He's stuck in his own mind."

She nods solemnly. "My friend Caitlyn has a sister like that," she says. "Maybe Castiel can fix her, too."

"Say, how did you know Cas was an angel," he asks. "Did he tell you?"

She looks up at him like he's an idiot. "Because he has wings, silly." Then she pats Dean's hand solemnly. "But you're a grown-up. You probably can't see them."

Dean's not sure if he should be offended or not, but he is saved the indignity of a response by Cas rocking back on his heels and standing up with alarming speed. "I can't get in," he says. "And… he is seeing Lucifer."

~~~


	71. Pins and Needles Day

~~~

"Sam, Sam, Sam."

Sam can feel the shiver travel down his spine at the smooth way Lucifer says his name. He can taste the fear in the back of his mouth, huge and sour. He's had a lot of practice with Lucifer, though, and he takes a deep breath and turns to face him. If there is one thing Sam Winchester is not, it is a coward.

As soon as he looks at Lucifer, though, he knows. 

This isn't real. 

He doesn't know how he knows, he just does. It's not like it was with Dean before, where he had a trick, a way to use pain or faith or whatever to force what he _wanted_ to be real to come to the fore. 

No, this is simply… wrong. It's like he can see the edges of Lucifer, a pixelated figure on a backdrop that's just a little too luminous to be real. He laughs. It's incredible – so easy to pick out how fake this is, like CGI in a B movie. 

He laughs again. This must be his gift. He can't _wait_ to tell Cas. 

Hope blooms in his chest. He'll finally be able to know for sure. When he gets out of here, he'll be able to look at Dean and Cas and _know_ they're real, that he's not in the cage and no one is fucking with him anymore. 

He takes a couple of deep breaths. He can't get ahead of himself. He has to get out of here before he can start making plans for his new reality-sensing abilities. 

He looks around, seeing if this new talent can tell him anything else about this un-reality. He must be in a spell, he realizes, because it is definitely not a dream. Those have a more silver quality to them. This is golden, awash in sunset colors.

Lucifer is still talking, but Sam can't hear him. He's not ignoring him – he's completely preventing any sound from coming out of the fake Lucifer's mouth. He laughs. Lucifer loses a lot of his ability to strike fear into men's hearts without his voice and creepy, creepy innuendo. 

Lucifer doesn't seem to notice that Sam's laughing at him. He's still putting on his one-man show, and Sam finally turns his back. If he's stuck in a spell, he has to find a way out. A door, or a path, some way to trick his mind into releasing him from the labyrinth.

It's a little weird, a spell that would cause him to conjure up Lucifer, of all things. He might have been convinced it was a djinn-induced hallucination, except for Lucifer. No, it has to be a spell. 

He glances around the bunker. There are all the tools he might need to cast a counter-enchantment, but they're all in his mind, so not truly tangible. Faith might make up for that, but he's not feeling particularly charitable about the crap his mind's eye version of the bunker might have in its depths. Doing magic inside his own mind seems like a bad idea anyway – one wrong move could melt his brain or turn his body to dust.

Easier to let his mind walk the path, follow the maze up and out of the morass of his own thoughts. 

He picks a door – one that leads out of the bunker – and starts walking.

~~~


	72. Stay In Bed Because You Are Well Day

~~~

"Dean?"

Dean shakes himself awake. Every time he falls asleep, he hears Sammy call for him, and every time, Sam's still lying in bed, deathly still, and –

Holy shit, Sam is _sitting up_ and _staring at him_ and –

"Cas! Get in here! Sam's awake!"

Dean rushes over to the bed, climbing on and kneeling next to Sam, close enough to touch, but not doing it, not yet. Not until Sam needs him to. "Sammy," he breathes, hovering.

A shining smile breaks on Sam's face, and he grabs Dean, pulling him into a crushing hug, and Dean could cry, he's so relieved. He doesn't, of course, because Sam has squeezed the breath out of him, and he and Sam have had more than their fair share of tears.

Sam picks him up and dumps him unceremoniously on his right side, turning to catch Cas as he leaps for the bed. "Sam," Cas says, raining kisses all over Sam's face. "We were so worried."

Sam accepts Cas's kisses for a just a moment before pulling him in for a quieting kiss, soft and sweet enough to give Dean a toothache. 

"I'm okay," Sam says, lacing his fingers in Dean's and yanking to pull him close. "I'm better than okay."

Dean too, considering Sam is awake and talking. "How so?" he asks, because he wants to hear nothing but Sam's voice for the next seventeen hours straight.

"Think I figured out my gift," he says, and grins down at Cas. Cas looks up at him, curious, and Sam says, "I can tell the difference between reality and…" He shrugs. "Not reality."

Dean has about fifty smart remarks in him about what a lame gift that is, but he knows it's something Sam has struggled with time and again, so he keeps them behind his teeth. "And this?" he asks instead.

"Reality," Sam says, squeezing Dean's fingers as he slumps back against the headboard and brings Dean with him. "Perfect, crystal-clear reality."

He places a kiss on Dean's temple, and Dean shifts in a little closer, stretching out along Sam's side, taking Sam's arm and wrapping it around himself.

Sam pulls Cas in under his other arm, and without having to say a single word, they all decide to spend the day in bed.

~~~

"You didn't keep her?" Sam asks, a laugh in his voice.

"I don't think her mother would have appreciated that," Cas says, and Dean snorts. That's an understatement. He thought Jamaila's mom was going to beat him to death with that purse of hers.

"Hmm," Sam answers. "I bet she liked you, though."

"Of course," Dean says. "Wouldn't let go of my hand until I delivered her to her mom. She wanted to keep Cas, her pet angel."

"I am not a pet," Cas says, the pout around the edges of his words adorable. Sam kisses them away, reassuring Cas that he's not anyone's pet, least of all theirs. 

"If anything, we're your pet humans," Sam says, and Dean would contest that except it really feels like the truth sometimes.

"Can we stop equating this relationship to domesticated animals?" Cas asks. "I don't like the implication of inequality."

Dean raises his eyebrows. That slid straight into super-serious in a surprisingly quick turn of events. Luckily, he doesn't have to answer because Sam jumps in to reassure him.

"It's just a saying, Cas. A joke."

"It's not funny."

Sam makes a soft noise of apology and pulls Cas in for a sideways hug. "No, it's not funny," Sam says. "But we do belong to you, in every way that matters."

"But I belong to you as well," Cas answers, "so there is no inequality. There is only the offer of everything I have to either of you."

Dean can't help echoing the soft smile on Sam's face. He will never stop being amazed that an angel of the lord can love them, two of the most damaged people on the planet.

"You are not damaged, Dean." Cas sits up enough to lean over Sam and press a soft kiss to Dean's lips. "You have given parts of yourselves willingly as sacrifice for a greater good. You have shaped yourself into something new, accepted these losses as a part of who you are. You are the most beautiful creatures on this planet. I am humbled that _you_ have chosen to love _me_." 

Dean ducks his head. He never knows what to do when Cas says stuff like that. He doesn't think of them like that, but when he looks over at Sam, knowing what a patchwork quilt his mind, body, and soul are… he can understand. Taking the pieces that are left and pushing forward… it's pretty cool, when he thinks of it like that.

~~~

"So, how did you get out?" Dean asks. He'd looked through every spellbook they had looking for something to help Sam find his way out of his own brain, and there hadn't been a single spell. A couple of books had mentioned dreamroot, and several had talked about astral projection, but not a single one has a spell. He'd thought Sam was going to be catatonic forever, and Dean would be stuck using dreamroot to watch his brother's life pass by with his face stuck to the glass, like a kid gazing in the department store window at Christmas.

Sam huffs. "It sucked. Once I realized it was a dream, I knew I had to find a way out. I tried doors and trails and scaring myself and hurting myself –"

Dean flinches at that. He knows Sam's lived through mental torture before, but to hear that he has a list of things he does to wake himself up only makes Dean painfully aware that he must have tried all of those things when he was in the cage with Lucifer.

"Anyway," he says, rubbing a hand down Dean's back. "Eventually I tried counting backward, like waking up from hypnosis. Guess it worked."

Dean nods. "I have a trick," he says. "Learned it from that psychic in Kentucky – the tattoo guy, you remember?"

"How could I forget?" Sam asks, laughing. "He had a Latin exorcism sleeve. Coolest thing I ever saw."

"He taught me this finger thing," Dean says, getting his right hand up to demonstrate. "Touch your thumb to each one of your fingers, and when you hit your pinky, open your eyes. Works for me every time."

"Cool," Sam says, trying it out, touching his thumb very precisely to each fingertip. "Wish you'd mentioned it earlier."

 _Yeah, me too,_ Dean thinks.

~~~

The last thing Dean remembers before he drifts off to sleep, his head pillowed on Sam's stomach, is Sam and Cas debating whether Thanksgiving required a turkey, or if they could replace it with prime rib. He snorts, because of course a turkey is required, and he'll be damn sure they have two or three because the guest list was a good twenty people long and their oven isn't going to fit a bird big enough to feed that many people. He smiles, reveling in the feeling of Sam's skin under his cheek, and thinks they've got enough time to put together a feast their friends will be proud of.

~~~


	73. Day of the Ninja

~~~

As Sam flips through another dusty old tome, he sends up thanks for the shift in Dean's attitude lately that means they only go out on hunts close to home. He knows Dean will be itching for a good hunt in a little while, but he's not so selfless as to not take advantage while Dean is still shaken from that spell Sam was under.

He hunts because Dean hunts. He knows that. If he could get Dean to quit, he would never look back. He's done enough. There are younger, faster, better hunters. He stays in contact with them – passes on info when he has it. Offers guidance, does research sometimes. He supposes he's the new Bobby, though he does it as surreptitiously as he can – he knows Dean would rather be on these hunts himself. And he doesn't answer phones, and the younger hunters don't really seem to need them. He wonders how they get in and question people without the FBI bit.

It's not the only secret he keeps. He's been researching for something to heal Cas's wings. His grace, really, or whatever it is that means Cas can't fly. It's not that Cas is sad, exactly, but he does seem diminished in some way that Sam can't quite put his finger on.

He knows Enochian pretty well, now. He knew bits and pieces of it before, picked up a few things from Lucifer over the years in the cage, but it was Gadreel that left the language in his brain, like an afterimage on the back of his eyelids. He can't look at it directly, but it's there when he needs it. He knows the power in it; he can feel where that hooks up with spellwork, where the different types of power can be twisted together like the ends of two copper wires.

He thinks he's found it, finally. The spell is to draw power from renewable resources – people's souls. He would offer up his own soul for that, and he's sure Dean would do the same, but he thinks they're probably too damaged to do much good. And he knows Cas wouldn't take juice from a bunch of innocents, either, so Sam finds another spell – one that will allow him to commune with trees.

~~~  
~~~

Dean sighs, looking at the stupid sidebar ads. It's creepy how Google knows he was looking up culinary schools for Sam and now pesters him with it. All the schools are on the coasts, a few in Chicago, but none really close enough for a commute. And he wants Sam to be happy, but he doesn't want to abandon the bunker, and he doesn't want to be away from Sam. The options chase themselves around in his brain until he's dizzy with it.

He's looked into local cooking classes, but Sam's super-smart; he probably figured out everything those kinds of classes could teach him just from fucking around in their own kitchen. He needs a challenge.

He decides on Hyde Park. Dean's a little disgusted to know that Sam admires Grant Achatz, and he went to school there. He knows most of Sam's favorite chefs, and it occurs to him that he's got built in birthday presents _forever_ by just roadtripping to Sam's favorite chefs' restaurants. He makes a note to get reservations at Alinea for Sam's birthday next year and opens up the online application.

~~~  
~~~

"Shhh," Castiel says, holding the garage door open for the mangy stray. She's whining, obviously cold and clearly hungry, and Castiel holds out a hand for her to sniff. She does, and allows Castiel to pet her briefly before he puts the dish of food down for her.

She gulps it down quickly. He hasn't seen her in over a week and he hates to think she might not have eaten at all in that time. She gives him sad eyes, and he would think about bringing her into the bunker except he knows Dean would never allow it. The bunker is a dangerous place for the truly sentient beings that live there; bringing an animal inside, even one as intelligent as a dog, is probably just asking for trouble. 

He stays outside with her for as long as he can without being missed, and pours another bowl of food before he leaves.

~~~  
~~~

When Sam finishes his spell research a couple weeks later, the final components and precisely written spell packed up tightly and buried in his already-packed duffel, he finds a fake case in California. There are probably a ton of real cases in California, but he the last thing he wants is to actually have to fight monsters when it's going to take most of his concentration to make sure the spell goes right.

"Hey, Dean," he says casually over breakfast. "Couple of sketchy deaths in California." Dean looks up automatically, and Sam can see the interest in his eyes until he looks at Sam. "Call Jason. He's in San Diego."

This is too easy. He knows exactly how to manipulate Dean into this, and he takes a moment to promise to use his power only for good before he makes a bitchface and says, "I'm not an invalid, Dean."

"Yeah, well, I don't want to drive that far." It's the first crack in Dean's armor. If he's down to lying about how much he wants to be on the road, he's a goner.

Sam gives his brother his best doe eyes and says, "But I wanted to see the ocean," with just a hint of a little brother whine. "It's been ages."

It's true, too – they almost _never_ go to California. Sam's sure it has something to do with Dean's discomfort about Sam being in school there, but it's been forever. Sam doesn't even remember what it was like, living on the West Coast.

Just to cap it off, because Cas is usually on his side when it comes to Sam being able to call the shots with regard to how much he's ready to do, Cas says, "I enjoy the ocean as well."

Sam smiles at him and gives him a nod of thanks. Dean rolls his eyes and says, " _Fine_ ," like going to California is putting him out or something. "On the road in half an hour, get your asses in gear."

~~~  
~~~

Dean's a little worried about Sam's mental faculties. Clearly, this was _not_ a case, and if Dean had cared even a little bit, he would've noticed when Sam was spelling things out to them in the car.

He wasn't really paying attention, though, too wrapped up in how much he hates California and doesn't ever go there with Sam if he can help it. He knows it's dumb, and Sam isn't going to up and leave just because he sees a beach, but it's still there in the back of his mind. 

So now they're in California and Sam's being all ridiculous about seeing the national forest or some shit, and Dean's hiking along behind Sam and Cas because this is what his life is now. 

"Let's take a break," Sam says, grabbing a seat at the base of one of the huge trees and letting his head thunk back against it. 

Dean grumbles, but takes a seat, leaning back against one of the gigantic trees. They are pretty cool, and he finds some of the nebulous irritation he's had ebbing away as he rests. 

Cas is doing the same, his head tilted back to look up at the canopy, ridiculously high above them. A feeling of peace blankets him, and suddenly Dean's not all that upset that they drove out here for nothing.

~~~

_It is our honor._

The words are a muddle in his mind, soft and whispery and made of a thousand voices.

Dean opens his eyes, surprised he even fell asleep. He sniffs and looks around, alarmed for just a second that Sam is missing until he sees him kneeling in front of Cas.

"Okay?" he asks, and Cas looks pained. 

"I don't wish to take anything from these majestic creatures."

"You heard them, Cas, they'd be honored to help. And there are enough of them that if we cast the net wide enough, it will only take the smallest amount from each."

Dean has only the vaguest idea of what's going on but excitement is bubbling up in him as he starts to understand. 

"You are sure this will not harm them?" 

"I'm sure, Cas," Sam says, and he leans forward to paint something on Cas's forehead with… is that ashes? And it looks like Enochian. Sam's been getting better at Enochian lately; Dean's not sure what that means, and he's not sure he likes it.

Still, as Sam starts to chant, low and slow, hope builds up as the power of the spell crackles in the air. Dean joins in with the chant when he's confident he has the words, scooting over to where Sam and Cas are and kneeling next to his brother. 

Sam takes his hand, and suddenly his view of the forest is lit up, painted with an ethereal brush that shows him the incredible amount of power here. He can feel their spell rolling out among the trees like a wave, further and further with each iteration, several miles in radius and not stopping yet. 

He doesn't know how long it goes on, but when Sam squeezes his hand and they stop chanting together, the base of the spell is too large for him to imagine without a birds-eye view.

He opens his eyes, meeting Cas's concerned ones in the process. He grabs Cas's hand, squeezing tightly, and Cas gives him a nervous half-smile. 

Sam takes a deep breath and Dean braces himself. Sam's voice changes when he casts spells, deeper and more commanding, and it's both cool and terrifying.

"OI GASSAGEN MAD VGEAR."

Nothing happens at first, and Dean's strangely disappointed. He waits, though, because sometimes this stuff takes a while, and it's better to hang out and see than to get hit with it when you're hiking back to the car. 

It's another few moments before he feels it, like a build-up of pressure in his ears. The power is rolling in from the edges of the spell, coming back in to them from the wave they sent out. There's a lot of it, too, and as he sees the trees closest to him add their power, just a tendril each, he knows that there must be a million trees or more giving a little of their juice to Cas. 

Cas cries out, and in his mind, Dean hears the low hum of the trees. 

_Castiel._

_Our brother._

The power converges on Cas, lifting him up, pulling him out of Dean's grip and holding him high in the air as it circles him. Dean can see Cas's angelic body being healed, a strange x-ray image of the way he knows he's been healed by Cas's grace before. His wings fill out and grow, and an age later, Cas lowers himself to the ground, wings spread.

"Thank you, my brothers," Cas says, his voice carrying in the forest, and even though the spell is over and Dean can't see anything except Cas's celestial body anymore, he can feel the weight of Cas's appreciation, and he can imagine the forest's acceptance of the gratitude.

"Thank you," he says to Sam, turning his eyes to Dean after a moment. "That was not necessary, but it was very much appreciated."

Well of course it wasn't necessary, but jeez, Dean wishes he'd understood how diminished Cas had become. There was no way to know how hurt Cas really was, and seeing his whole being now is almost painful in its intensity.

Cas's wings are more fluid, and quicker, and he uses them to pull Dean and Sam to him, holding them in a crushing hug.

~~~  
~~~

They're not even back from California for a week before Sam's out running again. He runs on and off these days; his body doesn't always let him run. It's tired and creaky, and sometimes it's nearly impossible to muster up the will to do more work than it has to.

Something about being out in nature though, among those huge redwoods… it makes him want to be strong again, confident in everything his body can do. So he puts on sweats and heads out early, running in towards town, thinking maybe he'll grab breakfast at the diner while he's there.

Breakfast turns into a chat with Millie about pie crust and a game of chess with Roger, who's always in the last booth looking for some competition. He's good – and Sam's chess game is not what it used to be – so it's a close one before Roger makes a mistake and Sam wins in seven moves.

Then it's almost ten, so he stops by the post office to pick up the mail. They're usually terrible at getting to their P.O. Box and it's almost always stuffed full with junk, but when Sam opens it up, there are only a few envelopes in there. Dean must've been by recently to empty it out.

He throws the coupon circulars and insurance ad postcards straight into the trash, but there's a big envelope that makes his breath catch as he turns it over. It's from the Culinary Institute at Hyde Park, and it's addressed to _him_. 

_Cas!_ he yells in his mind. _I'm in the post office, come pick me up._

Cas has been flying everywhere since he got his wings back, and Sam's started to think of him as his personal taxi service. It's not that he minds driving, but Dean's gotten more and more possessive about Baby over the years and there's not really another car to just take into town when they need supplies or drive to the nearest city to get some of the weirder ingredients for a recipe he wants to try.

Cas appears, huge smile on his face. He looks like Sam felt when he finished his run. "Home?" he asks, and Sam nods.

They pop into the library, where Dean's sitting with his feet up on the table, looking at a couple of books that can't possibly be research, since there hasn't been a case anywhere all week. He looks up at them when they appear. 

"Oh, willing to run all the way to town, but too lazy to run back?"

It's a lousy jibe, but Dean's been off his game since they all… became whatever it is they are now. 

Sam throws the envelope on the table accusingly. "What's this, Dean?"

Dean looks down at the packet and back up to Sam. "You didn't open it?"

Sam makes a face, and Dean just shakes his head. "Open it."

"You applied to culinary school for me? Dean, what the hell?"

Dean shrugs. "Open it."

Sam doesn't have to open it. He knows what an acceptance packet looks like and what a rejection letter looks like. This is definitely an acceptance packet. "Hyde Park is in New York, Dean."

Dean nods, closing the book he's reading with a thump. "You think I don't know that? You think it was easy for me, thinking we might have to leave the bunker, or live in two different states?"

Sam's breath catches. This wasn't a lark. Dean actually thought about it, decided it would be worth it, and made a choice that might separate them but would give Sam a chance at what he wanted.

"I fail to see how this is an issue," Cas says, effortlessly derailing the two of them. "I can simply fly Sam to and from school each day."

He can, and that's… actually kind of perfect, really, but still not the point. "Dean, you should've talked to me first. I'm not going to let you start hunting alone so I can go to school."

"What am I, chopped liver? " Cas asks, and damn it, he is ripping up all of Sam's arguments today.

"Thanks, Cas," Dean says, reaching across the table to grab the envelope. "But someone needs to pay the tuition. I was gonna get a job."

Sam has to sit down. He's not sure, but he thinks Dean just offered to retire from hunting. "Dean," he says, failing to come up with any words to follow that up with.

"Sam," Dean says, a small poke in return, but not a mean one. He rips the top of the envelope and pulls out the sheaf of papers, all the paperwork that needs to be done before Sam can start school. Sam stares at it.

"Hey," Dean says, grabbing Sam's hand and pulling until Sam gets up from his chair to go stand next to Dean. Dean pulls him down onto his lap and Sam goes, though it's awkward and uncomfortable and not awesome like when he was a kid. Dean pulls his head down to press a kiss to his forehead and says, "I want this for you, too."

~~~  
~~~

Castiel flies to the small hill that hides the garage door to the bunker. There's a spell to make the door invisible, and two or three more to repel people and other beings and supernatural entities. There's nothing for dogs, though, and his friend is curled up next to the door. She looks up at his arrival, tail thumping on the ground happily.

"Yes," he says, pulling out the meat he purchased for her, "it is good to see you as well."

"What is your name?" he asks, pleased when he can hear her answer plainly.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Daisy. I am Castiel."

She licks his hand, and he pets her briefly before she goes back to eating. He waits for her to finish before he attempts to pet her again. He crouches down and she puts her paws on his shoulders, knocking him backwards. He smiles and pats her when she jumps on him, clearly the victor in their wrestling match.

He is in this unfortunate position when the garage door opens, though, and unable to get up and away with Daisy before the Impala backs out, Dean in the driver's seat and Sam at his side.

Dean stares at him for a second, his eyes tripping from Castiel to the dog, and his face setting into a grim frown. "What are you doing with that mutt, Cas?"

Castiel stands and keeps Daisy behind him. "She was starving, Dean."

He can see the sympathy in Sam's face, but he remains silent. He knows Sam has wanted a pet for some time, but Dean's objections have overridden his desire.

"She shouldn't be hanging out by the bunker, Cas. Can't you take her somewhere else?"

Castiel could, but he sees no reason to transplant the animal when she is doing no harm. He has no way to know what kind of social networks she has set up here. "No, Dean, I can't."

Dean narrows his eyes at Castiel, but he doesn't push the issue. "She's not coming in."

"I know that, Dean. Your rules about pets are abundantly clear."

That seems to make Dean reconsider. Castiel has found that when he calls out Dean's long-standing bad behavior, it will often cease Dean's arguments. It works again, and Dean changes tack.

"We're going out for stuff Sam's going to need for school. Want to come?"

Castiel has very little desire to be trapped in the back seat of the Impala for hours, but he does want to be supportive. He sighs, resigning himself to road games and off-key singing with a promise to himself that he will fly himself home after they are done shopping and perhaps have dinner prepared for them when they return.

"Of course," he says, patting Daisy on the head one last time before climbing into the car. Sam reaches over the seat and gives his shoulder a sympathetic squeeze, and Castiel accepts the comfort, allowing his concentration to shift to Sam's excitement about school.

~~~


	74. National Adoption Day

~~~

Dean is turning into a fucking sap.

It's happened slowly and sneakily over the last year, but as he's lying in bed with Sam and Cas, the three of them curled around each other, he knows. He'd do anything for either of them. And not in a "I'd lay my life down for my brother" way (which has been true for years). Nooooo, in a "I would dress in an eighties outfit and moonwalk across the bunker if it would make you smile" kind of way. In an "every song I hear reminds me of you because I am a fucking sap" kind of way. 

He's stupidly, desperately in love with these idiots, and it is physically painful to him. 

"I think we should bring Daisy into the bunker," Sam says, and it just goes to show that Dean's lost every last bit of "because I say so" he ever had.

"No."

"Dean," Sam whines, and it makes Dean's eye twitch a little that Sam's using that whine on him. He knows that whine, and it's usually reserved for things Sam really, really wants. 

And, Dean supposes, a dog is one of those things. Probably always has been. Dean's not even opposed to a dog, really, it's just that they were always going out on the road for weeks, sometimes months at a time. There's no way they could leave a dog alone in here. 

But Dean's working now, an everyday job at the diner, breakfast and lunch, the 6am shift. It's good practice, he figures, being in a restaurant kitchen. Sam's starting culinary school soon, and Cas… he's not sure what Cas does when he's not with them. He can be anywhere, now, this world or… probably some other, come to think of it. It freaks Dean out that Cas might be casually going off to visit other planets while he's flipping burgers at the local greasy spoon.

But Cas would take care of the dog. She'd be Cas's dog, or maybe Cas and Sam would share the responsibilities, and maybe she would be smart enough not to get into anything she shouldn't… or at least not to shit inside.

He already knows he's going to cave, but if he's going to cave, he's going to do it right and squeeze every last drop of leverage out of it.

He waits until just before Thanksgiving. He doesn't really wait – he starts feeding the dog immediately, getting her comfortable with him so she'll want to come in with him when he finally invites her. But he doesn't invite her in until Cas takes Sam to an organic grocery store in California to shop for Thanksgiving supplies. He knows they'll be gone for an hour or more, so he bribes the dog to come in with a bit of raw steak, and leads her into the bathroom where he gives her a nice, warm shower. There are baths in the bunker, but they're not in the shower room, and it doesn't take long to realize they're really going to want one of those if they have a dog.

Still, she's a pretty good sport, allowing Dean to lather her up several times and shift her under the spray to rinse off. When he finally feels like she is clean, he wraps her up in fluffy towels and dries her off as best he can. 

He's always thought Sam had a hair dryer around, but he searches the entire bathroom and Sam's bedroom and comes up with nothing. Eventually he just assumes the dog's going to air dry and turns the heat up a little. So far, she's followed him around everywhere, and when he realizes she must be hungry again, he leads her to the kitchen and cuts up some steak.

When she finally finishes eating, Dean puts on the collar and tag he bought for her and waits for Sam and Cas to come back.

~~~  
~~~

Sam knows he can be a bit obsessive. It's just that it's their first real Thanksgiving, and he has a very particular idea of what he wants to make. He probably could make substitutions, but _why_ when Cas can just jaunt him wherever he needs to go? He doesn't go overboard; some day he might, go directly to Maine for lobster and Wisconsin for cheese, but he's not there yet. No, he just makes Cas take him from market to market until he has everything he wants. It takes a little over three hours, but it's not like they had anything better to do.

When they get back to the bunker, Cas zaps them right into the kitchen and they spend a while putting away groceries. He expected Dean to come help them as soon as they started moving around, but he hasn't shown up after Sam has folded up the last bag.

His only guess is that Dean is under a car somewhere or napping. He takes Cas's hand, tangling their fingers together, and heads out to track Dean down.

He doesn't have to go far. Dean is asleep on the couch, the menu from Big Hero 6 on repeat, and there is a clean and collared Daisy sleeping half on his lap. Sam slaps a hand over Cas's mouth, which he is pretty sure exactly what Cas needed not to make some extremely undignified noise. The two of them settle in on the floor, Cas with his head resting on Daisy and Sam with his head resting on Dean, and Sam re-starts the movie. 

He's not sure what flipped the switch in Dean, but he has to check almost daily to be sure this isn't a dream. Between Cas's fully healed wings and Dean's sudden thoughtfulness, it's tough to believe this is his life now. He glances over at Daisy and she looks at him with thoughtful eyes, looking not at all put out about Cas's head on her belly. _Good dog,_ he thinks, and she lowers her head to her paws, snuffling against Dean's leg.

~~~


	75. Thanksgiving

~~~

When he decides to cook Thanksgiving dinner for their friends, Sam isn't really picturing anything beyond cooking a feast for a bunch of people that are like family. Just seeing Jody and Garth and Aaron again is a warm glow in the back of his mind.

They spend days planning it; Dean timing out the traditional Thanksgiving dinner and Sam figuring out what dishes he wants to add around that. Curried carrots, prime rib, dried lingonberry powder... he's planning on going all out. Cas takes over beverages, making sure there is a variety of beer, wine, coffee, and tea available. It is going to be sensational.

Donna arrives first, and they take a short break to greet her before dragging her into the kitchen to help. Sam enjoys Donna's big smile, and just seeing her in their kitchen, grinning at them, is enough to make him happy for the rest of his life.

Garth and his wife come next, and Sam handles the delicate introductions. Donna has a bad history with werewolves, but Garth and Bess are mild-mannered and careful to keep a large piece of furniture between them and Donna at all times. 

Aaron shows up next, golem in tow, and that is pretty much the icebreaker of the century. There's lots of talk of weird-ass shit and Sam realizes as he listens that they don't really share cases back and forth with their friends. Neither Donna nor Garth knew anything about the Thule, and both listen raptly as Aaron recounts his recent adventures.

Krissy, Josephine, and Aiden show up next, and Sam could not be more thrilled to see them talking to the rest of the group and taking down numbers. They talk about college, and Sam doesn't even have a twinge of jealousy. He's happy where he is.

And then Jody and the girls come in, loud and cheery, and so _welcome_. He forgets how nice it is to have someone normal in his life, someone he thinks of as a person first and a hunter second.

And then Claire bursts in, hugging Cas and then Dean, loudly talking about her gay uncles.

There's a distant sense of amusement as he watches Dean squirm, and the whole table up in arms asking about their relationship, but he can feel himself take a step back in his mind, put up some defensive spells out of pure habit, and paste on a smile that's only half-fake, because he does really love it when someone other than him takes the mickey out of Dean.

When Cas asks, "What about Sam? Isn't he a gay uncle too?" Sam's ready to crawl into a hole, but thank God, everyone, especially Claire, misunderstands.

"He's the straight uncle," Claire says, finally coming over to give him a hug. "Hi Sam."

"Hi Claire," he says, grabbing her arm and pulling her over to where he had been getting the fresh rolls ready to go in the oven. "Why don't you give me a hand?"

Thankfully Dean gets the hint and shoos everyone else out of the kitchen, siccing Cas on them to get their drink orders. 

When the room clears out and he and Claire are putting the rolls in the oven, he says, "Take it easy on them, will you?"

She scoffs. "No." She closes the oven door and wipes her hands. "And it's a little weird hearing you want me to. Tell me you don't love embarrassing the crap out of Dean."

 _Busted._

"Yeah, well, I don't like embarrassing Cas, and you know how weird he is. I don't want this whole thing going sideways. We've been cooking for a week."

She smiles brightly at him. "Sorry. Castiel never gets a pass with me. Suck it up, Winchester."

~~~

Sam hunkers down and concentrates on the cooking. He hears the laughter coming from the other room, and he knows Dean and Cas are both going out and playing host in between helping out in the kitchen.

He gets out of sitting down when the appetizers are delivered by taking over mashed potato and stuffing duty from Dean, along with his own carrots and roasted root vegetables. None of it's hard, but there's enough to do that he doesn't have time to sit around and chit-chat.

At least Dean is leaving him alone; Cas keeps coming in and asking questions. Mostly questions about cooking, but Sam can tell he's trying to draw Sam out, probably worried about the guarding spells Sam put up. He's not really in the mood, though, so he just puts his head down and keeps cooking.

Unfortunately he can't get out of sitting down to the main courses, so he helps bring out the massive quantities of food and takes a seat between Jody and Bess. Claire and Krissy are getting along like gangbusters, whispering with their heads together at the end of the table, and it's not like they put out name cards or anything (next time he's _definitely_ putting down name cards) but Cas is on Claire's other side, and of course, Dean and Cas are seated next to each other.

"You all right there, Sam?" Jody asks, glancing down at his plate.

It's a lot tougher to pretend to eat when your plate is overfull with food. He shouldn't've loaded up, but he did really want to try everything. "Yeah," he says, forcing himself to be cheerful, "Just trying to catch up with everyone at once." He punctuates it with a bit of the stuffing, which is _fantastic_. Of course it is. As soon as Jody turns away, he grabs the turkey off his plate and holds it under the table for Daisy to grab. 

He tries a little bit of everything, but it doesn't really make a dent, and his stomach is really complaining, so he pushes his plate away, hoping no one notices. There's a commotion down at Claire's end of the table, and before he knows it, she's clinking a knife to the side of her glass. 

"We're not _married_ ," Dean says, "so that doesn't even count."

Claire just keeps on clinking. Cas looks confused, and Dean goes after Claire's knife, which he does wrestle away from her, but then Krissy starts. Dean glares at her. "Et tu?"

Krissy gives Dean a huge smile, completely guileless. Sam is really starting to feel a little sick, now, so he gets up and starts gathering some of the dirty dishes to take into the kitchen.

The clinking has been taken up by at least half of the people at the table, Donna and Aaron included, so Sam sneaks out just as Dean stands Cas up. "You get one," Dean says, "and that's _it_."

There's a lot of oohing and ahhing, so Sam assumes Dean did something dramatic, like dip Cas. 

Sam dumps the dishes in the sink and keeps on moving, heading through the hallways to his room. He grabs a seat on his bed and looks around at it. He still comes to his room every day – his clothes are all in here, and most of his favorite books, and all of his stuff.

He never even put that together, that he is basically still not fully part of the relationship. It's always going to be Dean and Cas… and Sam, and while he used to think that was okay, he's wondering, now, if he can live with Dean and Cas being the public face of their relationship. Why hadn't he thought about that before inviting everyone over? It's not like they could announce their incestuous polyamorous relationship to all their friends. 

"Hey."

He looks up to find Jody standing in his doorway. He smiles at her. "Hey."

"You want to talk about it?"

Sam closes his eyes. He soooo does not want to talk about it. Ever. "Not really."

"Okay," Jody says, coming in to stand next to him. "Doesn't seem like your style, though."

"Oh really?" Sam asks, laughing, because she has no idea how much this kind of heartache is right up Sam's alley.

"Yeah," Jody says. "I always thought you'd be happy for them."

Sam's a little surprised that's what Jody thinks. "I thought you knew me better than that."

Jody raises an eyebrow. "Oh, so you _are_ happy for them. Hard to tell on that sourpuss face."

"I am happy for them," Sam confirms. "I've always been. I'm just pitying myself."

"Oh, Sam," Jody says, sitting down next to him and pulling him into a sideways hug. "You'll find someone. You're a great catch – people just have to know you're on the market."

Sam shakes his head. The desire to tell Jody about the three of them is intense – it feels like, of all of them, she might be the one that could understand. 

"Oh. _Ohhhh._ " Jody says in dawning understanding. "You too? What is it about Castiel that has the Winchester boys all tied up in knots?"

Sam takes a breath in and holds it. Maybe he can give her that much. "Cas is pretty amazing," Sam says. "He _is_ an angel of the lord, after all."

"Well, yeah," Jody says, knocking her shoulder into his. "But you're –"

"I'm with Cas too," Sam blurts out, his heart beating uncontrollably fast. He just has to let someone know – one person, so he's not all alone out there. "We're… he's… he's with both of us."

Jody goes still for a second, and Sam instantly regrets his decision. Jody is great, she gets him and Dean more than most people, but he shouldn't have said anything. "Look, it's – don't think it's weird, he's just, you know, angels don't really get human social norms, and Dean's okay–"

"Sam," Jody whispers, holding for just a second, and then saying it again. "Sam, no – that's great. I mean, great for you. For all of you. Whatever." She turns to him and smiles. "I'm happy for you, really. And I get it now." 

He sighs out a heavy breath. "Yeah."

"Yeah," Jody says. "That's got to be tough on you." 

Sam shrugs. "First time it's happened. Every other time we've ever been in public, it's been on a hunt. All business, no questions."

"Oh, so you were blindsided, on top of everything else," Jody says, standing up and kissing him on the top of the head. "I'm so sorry, Sam."

On impulse, Sam throws his arms around her and burrows his head into her stomach. "It's better now that you know."

~~~

The rest of the evening goes impossibly fast. Every time Dean and Cas get teased, Jody gives him a little nudge. Cas keeps looking his way and giving him indecipherable looks, but he figures it's the mental wards. He hasn't used that trick on Cas for months now. He wonders just how much Cas reads their minds on a day-to-day basis if the protection spells are so troubling to him.

Dean doesn't really seem to notice, or if he does, he is firmly ignoring it. He's a good host, though, and he spends the night catering to everyone's whims, including coffee and tea service with the pie. It's Cas that fixes up the drinks, though, and he won't take any orders – he waits for Dean to cut the pie of their choice, spends a moment looking at them, and then fixes up their coffee or tea, and will brook no suggestions.

Everyone, including Krissy, who was adamant that she only likes plain peppermint tea, loves their drinks, and unanimously agrees that they pair perfectly with the pie. Sam's definitely going to take a look at this new talent of Cas's when they have more time to experiment. He could be the world's best sommelier.

They drop off in groups of twos and threes, not one among their guests refusing overnight accommodations in the bunker (which came with explicit instructions not to wander or touch anything). Honestly, Sam is tempted to lock them all in their rooms, but considering how much the bunker resembles a dungeon, he goes for locking all the other rooms instead, keeping the key ring with him. 

He meets up with Dean, Cas, Jody, and Donna in the kitchen, doing the last of the dishes. "You guys didn't need to do that," he says, and Jody smiles at him, but it's Donna that "pfft"s his concern away.

"My momma taught me that if someone makes you a meal, you do the clean-up afterward. This is just good manners."

Sam's certainly not complaining, considering they'd gone through just about every dish, pot, pan, and glass in the bunker. "And it was a fantastic meal," Jody adds, "so we're happy to do it."

Sam nods acceptance of their praise, letting Dean's mumbled thanks stand for all of them. 

"So," Donna says, turning to Cas, "I don't suppose you'd fix me up another cup of coffee? That mug I had with dessert was the best cup of joe I've ever had."

Cas bows his head slightly in acceptance of the compliment and says, "How about some tea? It would suit you better right now."

"Oh, yah," Donna says, "um, but I don't… tea isn't really something I drink."

"You will like this," Cas promises. "Does anyone else want anything?"

"Oh, me too," Jody says, elbowing Sam. "And then we should probably head to bed ourselves. Can't let the girls wake up before us and wander around the bunker."

Cas fixes them all versions of hot chocolate or tea, and as soon as Jody and Donna have their mugs, Jody loops her arm in Donna's and steers her out of the kitchen. "Night, boys."

"Good night," Sam says, smiling after her. He leans back against the sink, watching until Donna and Jody are down the hallway to the sleeping quarters and definitely out of earshot.

"I should sleep in my room tonight," he says, just to state the obvious. "Just in case there are any early risers."

"No," Cas says. "Absolutely not. In fact, I do not understand why you kept preventing me from telling them all about Sam."

Oh, thank god. Dean he'd understood – of course he's not going to bring it up. But Cas… Cas he'd expected to at least try to say something. Especially with all the looks he'd been shooting Sam's way.

"Because you can't just tell people," Dean says. "It's weird, Cas, and illegal in a lot of places, including this one." 

"It's illegal to love people?" Cas asks, and Sam laughs because he knows Cas is being dense on purpose. He hadn't always been able to tell before, but he's getting used to Cas's conversational quirks, and the sneaky ways he turns conversations around.

"Incest is illegal," Dean says, "and don't pretend you don't know that."

"I told Jody," Sam says. "Sort of."

"Sort of?" Dean asks, not sounding quite as hysterical as Sam would've expected. "What kind of sort of?"

"I told her we were both with Cas." 

Dean hums and shrugs. "That isn't a bad way to go with this. He's an angel, never did get human relationships."

"Excuse me," Cas says, sounding cranky. "I understand human relationships. Certainly well enough to be in one."

Sam laughs. "That's the problem, Cas – you're not in one. You're in three. And that's pretty unusual by typical human standards."

"But I don't think coming out to all our friends is really the right way to go. I'm sure Aaron and Garth would be perfectly happy not knowing. And Claire and Krissy are maybe a little young. And Donna, well…"

"I'm sure Jody will tell her," Dean finishes. "So that's probably fine." 

For some value of fine, Sam supposes. Close enough. He wouldn't know how to bring that up to Donna anyway.

"So anyway," he says, steering the conversation back around. "I'm going to sleep in my bed tonight."

"Hell no you're not," Dean says, grabbing Sam's wrist and squeezing. "And don't make me haul you to our room by your hair."

Cas removes the mug of Mexican hot chocolate from his other hand, sets it gently in the sink, and takes Sam's hand between both of his. "If it concerns you, I will stay up and wake you when anyone else starts moving around. My guess is it will be Garth and his wife; he didn't sleep much his last visit."

 _Oh no._ It hits him that Garth and Bess can probably smell the situation between the three of them. He flicks a sideways glance to Dean to see if he's figured it out, and when Dean slaps his hand to his forehead, he knows he's figured it out, too.

Dean sighs. "Whatever. If they had a problem with it, they would've up and left, don't you think?"

Sam shrugs. He has no idea about the niceties of werewolf culture. "I don't care," he says honestly. "I'm wiped, and fine, I'm not going to say no as long as Cas is willing to make sure we don't get caught with our pants down tomorrow morning."

Neither Cas nor Dean lets go of him as they leave the kitchen, which would be fine except the golem is standing in the middle of the library and looks them up and down, judging them in that silent way of his. 

"So, that's Aaron," Sam says. He really hadn't been planning on coming out to all their friends, but the more people that know, the lighter he feels. He can't help it.

That really only leaves Krissy and her gang and Claire and Alex. There's no way that they're coming out to the kids, so that means pretty much, all their adult friends know, or will know by morning. Suddenly, he feels much better.

"C'mon," he says, nodding a greeting at the golem before yanking Dean and Cas down the hallway behind him, "I have a plan for breakfast and we need to get up early."

~~~


	76. Letter Writing Day

~~~

When Dean was little, Dad used to have him write letters to Mom when he was sad. He said he'd give it to the angels to give to her. They've found dad's stashes all over the states, and every one of Dean's letters were in the storage unit in Montana. Sam'd found them first, reading the first one out loud dramatically, trying to embarrass Dean, until he'd read, "I miss you Mommy, when are you coming to take us home?" and then he'd shut up and sat down to read through the rest of them in silence.

He never looked at Dean the same after that. 

Dean still writes to Mom sometimes, though he's given up on expecting her to come back. Still, he figures he has a real angel now, maybe Cas could deliver a letter, or get it to one of the angels who might. Mostly, though, the letters are for him. They have friends now, people he can call up and talk to if he really wants to. He just never wants to. And their situation is just this side of normal, even for hunters. 

Sam might call Jody. He knows Jody's always had a real soft spot for Sam, and he's always appreciated her for that. But that means she's off limits for Dean. Sam needs someone safe, too.

So he sits down at his desk, takes out a piece of the Men of Letters stationery and one of the heavy ball point pens, and writes.

_Dear Mom,_

_I miss you. I hope you're happy where you are, and I hope those angels are taking good care of you. Find a way to let us know if they're not – Cas'll come up there and straighten them out._

_So it's been a while, I guess, and I need to let you know who's who around here. Sam's with me, still, going on a decade now, which, considering everything we've been through, is probably some kind of miracle._

_Castiel is an angel. Sometimes I think he's the angel you used to tell me about, because he has protected us to the ends of the earth and back – Heaven and Hell too for that matter. Me and Sam both, like there's no difference between us – and I know you know how special that is._

_Bobby died a few years back while we were hunting some real nasty shit. Leviathans. I've never been fond of black goo, but these guys, they were the worst. He was pretty much the last person who really loved Sam the way he's supposed to be loved, except for maybe Jody._

_Jody is a sheriff we ran into when Bobby's wife came back from the dead. Zombies, not the good kind of coming back from the dead, and she's a real tough cookie. She likes Sam, too, and over the years, I think she's really been someone he can lean on._

_There are other hunters now, people we keep in touch with and share information with. There's a whole network, really. We're running into younger and younger hunters and it's making me feel old._

_So Dad was supposed to be a Man of Letters (check out the stationery), and we ran into Grandpa a few years back, and found our way to their secret bunker. (Yes, really, a secret bunker.)_

_It's full of books and papers and old home movies of weird experimental shit (which Sam loves) and every kind of weapon and restraining device ever conceived (which I love) and a bunch of spellwork stuff. I'm pretty sure Sam loves that too, and it makes me nervous as hell._

_Sam's gotten real good at Enochian, too, which sucks because every time he uses it, and I mean_ every _time, Cas looks at him like he's some kind of miracle – I think because it's not really supposed to be pronounceable by humans. Sam's had a couple of angels in him, though, so I'm thinking some of that stuck._

_Speaking of Sam… Mom, I've made some mistakes. I've fucked up really big, like, way bigger than you probably think I could. But I think the biggest ways I fucked up were in the small ways I hurt Sam, back before we were some kind of BIG DEAL. I think I was pretty selfish, and not really good at seeing Sam for who he was. I just saw who I wanted him to be, and no one could measure up to that. It was pretty unfair. And he's done so much, Mom. He's endlessly good, hopeful, helpful. The worse things are for him, the more he wants to help other people. I could never hope to be that good a person._

_We're almost retired now. I'm working a regular job – 6a to 2p at a diner! It's a neat little place, we used to eat there all the time before we started getting into this cooking thing. The owner lets me stay after the lunch crowd and try stuff, too. I'm gonna ask her if me and Sam can come in late at night sometimes and try some of his weird recipes. She'll probably let us if we let her put the not-too-weird ones on the menu._

_Sam's in culinary school. Cas flies him back and forth every day. I think he probably takes some detours before he comes back to take care of our dog – don't even say it, I'm not talking about the dog (Daisy) – but he always comes home, so that's all that matters._

_Anyway, Sam likes the art of it, I think. I like good, basic food, and I'm pretty good at figuring out the ways to make it taste the best it can. He likes interesting food, and weird combinations, and all kinds of technology like this thing he bought the other day – an anti-griddle. What the hell is an anti-griddle, I asked him, because seriously? Who names something an_ anti- _griddle, anyway? But he answered me with a straight face, and now we freeze all kinds of shit on there and make weird powders and granitas and stuff (don't tell Sam I know the word granita – it's more fun to watch him turn purple when I mispronounce his fancy-ass dishes)._

_We just found out a few days ago that apparently Cas can identify exactly what drink will go best with every food, for every person. He can, I dunno, figure out what your palate likes, and then compare it to the notes in the food and find you the perfect wine, or fix your coffee exactly perfect based on your body chemistry. I'm never fixing my own coffee again, Mom, never._

_So anyway, we've got a plan, kind of. I think. We haven't really talked through all the details because we're just putting in the kind of work we need to, but I think we're eventually going to open up a restaurant somewhere. Me and Sam, we cook different food, but we're going to figure out how to make that work for us._

_It's all pie in the sky right now anyway, but it's a goal. It keeps us moving. We still help out other hunters with research and networking, and once in a while we'll take on a hunt that's close to the bunker, but I think we're pretty much out of the game now. I worry that Cas is bored here with us. I still don't get him; how can staying with two humans come close to being an angel? He seems content, though, and I'm just selfish enough not to question that. He's pretty good at telling us what he wants or needs, so I have to hope that extends to hanging around a couple of broken down humans like me and Sam._

_Anyway, Mom, I just wanted to let you know that we're happy. It's been a long ways to get here – and Sam still relapses here and there – but things are good. Me and Sam, we're good, and loved, Cas loves us the way you'd want us to be, if you were here. There's still some tough spots. We can't really come right out and tell our friends about us, and I think that hit Sam pretty hard on Thanksgiving, but other than that, we're good. We're better than good. For once I'm thinking maybe living a long life is a decent way to spend the time until we get up to Heaven and track you down._

_We miss you. Hope you're doing something fun up in Heaven and not dealing with douchenozzle angels._

_Love,_  
      _Dean_

~~~


	77. Information Overload Day

~~~

It smells like demons. That's why they took the case. Most of the hunters they know now haven't come up against a demon. For one thing, the demons have really knuckled down, filled a particular niche. They leave hunters alone and go about their business of collecting souls. If there's one thing Crowley did for demons, it was give them a life's purpose that made the more willing to work to get ahead than go nuts and randomly kill people.

That said, there's still occasionally a random demon who's just a fuckhead, and those are the cases they'll chase down. They still have their tattoos, they always carry holy water, crosses, and demon-killing sharp objects on their person at all times. It's just habit. 

Sam can't even say why he thought it was a demon, maybe just the viciousness of the kills. Whatever the reason, they're currently making their way through a labyrinthine storeroom on the second floor of a creepy antiques shop, and Dean's about to pass through a curtain of… _oh, shit_.

"Dean!" Sam hisses, but it's too late – Dean walks right through the spell, turning around after he's on the other side of the door to ask, in his most irritated voice, " _What?_ "

Sam rolls his eyes and shoos Dean on, waiting for him to turn around before he looks at the spell closely. His new reality-detecting powers show him all kinds of supernatural phenomena – including magic. Turns out magic is usually a tear in the fabric of reality. Sometimes it's just small little holes, like a perforation, and others it's more like a giant tear. This is the first – the little matrix of dots looks more like a beaded door curtain than a spell, which is why Sam hadn't caught it until too late. 

Cas walks by as Sam is examining it, and Sam grabs him by the collar and yanks him back before he walks straight through the same spell. "Just a second," he says, pulling down an Enochian warding spell from his memory and mumbling it over Cas. "There, now you can go."

Sam's pleased to watch reality seemingly bend around Cas. Somehow he avoids all the tiny tears like running through raindrops. He casts the same spell on himself and follows suit, listening carefully for Dean. 

"Sam! Cas!" Dean voice calls from deep in the bowels of the room. "I did something dumb and you should come here now."

Sam sighs, following Cas toward the sound of Dean's voice. "What did you do?"

"Caught a truth spell," Dean answers. Sam groans. They're the worst. 

"All right," Sam calls back. "We'll fix it."

"Gotta take care of the witch first," Dean says, and then there's an _ow!_ that Sam knows is more surprise than hurt.

They finally round a corner and Dean is standing in the middle of a small, cleaned-out space, altar on one side and bed on the other. There's a surprisingly stereotypical-looking little-old-lady witch sitting in a rocking chair, knitting.

"Welcome, boys," she says, grinning at them. "What are your names?"

"Castiel," Cas answers. Sam shakes his head and remains silent.

The witch looks up at him, squinting, then gets up, leaving her knitting on the chair and coming over to sniff him. "Counterspell, eh?" she says. "You're not a witch."

Sam shrugs. He's not sure what is involved with the title "witch," but he's pretty sure it's more dedicated practice than he's put in. 

"Well," she says, turning her back on him without a care in the world, "you'll take care if you don't want me to kill this one."

Dean smiles sheepishly at him and turns around to face forward. She sniffs Cas as she goes by and does a double-take. "And what are you?"

"I am an angel of the lord," Cas answers. He's not concerned, which is good. If Dean was really in danger, Cas would be much gruffer.

"An angel of the lord, really?" she says. "And not immune to truth magic?"

Cas tilts his head in the confused way he has and says, "I am not under a spell. I tell the truth because there is no reason not to."

"Mmhmm," she answers, taking a circle of Dean and taking a deep breath through her nose. "You smell delightful in my thrall, dearie."

Sam shifts sideways, closer to Cas, so he can read Dean's face. He is clearly disgusted but doesn't say anything; apparently there's nothing compelling him to say everything on his mind. Thank God for small favors.

"So, what are you here for?" she asks, and Dean answers immediately.

"We're here to kill you."

She doesn't seem too upset with that news. "Oh really? Why is that?"

"Because you murdered four people in town," Dean says, his face showing some strain now, "and we're not going to let you kill anyone else."

"Oh, is that all?" she asks. "I didn't murder those couples. That's the demon that waltzed into town last week sometime. Been staying in the bed and breakfast on the west side."

"You didn't do your research too well," she says. "You know witchcraft doesn't usually involve murder, don't you?"

"Yes," Cas answers. Sam could've answered that one, too, but Dean answers, "No," and he has to shake his head. Dean really thinks all witchcraft is evil and murderous? What does he think about Sam's dabbling then? 

He's tempted to ask, but taking advantage of Dean when he's under a truth spell is not fair, and while he might have been tempted a few months ago, he's less interested in truths that Dean doesn't want to give him.

"Well," she says. "I think we best be getting you out of here, then. Why don't you go take care of that demon and then leave town."

"We still have to kill you," Dean says matter-of-factly, and Cas's horrified, "Dean!" sums up his own reaction perfectly.

"She is not evil. In fact, her soul is quite gentle. She does not practice any witchcraft that would harm another soul, including those of animals."

"Animals have souls?" Dean asks, and the witch cackles. 

"More than most people," she says, and Sam sighs dramatically. 

"I will go smite the demon," Cas says, and with that, he's gone. Sam sighs again. This is not how things were supposed to go.

"Will you release the truth spell Dean is under?" he asks. 

"No," she answers. "But it doesn't last long anyway. I only need it so I can suss out people's true intentions."

"How long is not long?" Sam asks.

"Twenty-four hours."

Shit – Dean has to work tomorrow morning. "Come on," Sam says. "We have normal lives – we can't hide out for a day while we wait for the spell to dissipate."

She smiles at him, a devious, gap-toothed grin. "Well, it dissipates with every truth he tells, and he's only compelled to answer direct questions."

"Oh," Sam says. "All right." He turns to Dean, really just to tell him they can go, but he looks pale. Sam would ask if he was all right, but clearly he's not, and that would force Dean to tell him.

"The bigger the truth, the more of the spell it takes," she says cheerily. Sam rolls his eyes. She can't have any idea the kinds of truth they're dealing with here. 

"Thanks for the help," he says, turning Dean around and casting the protection spell over him before shoving him back toward the truth curtain. "We'll just go now."

"You do that, sonny. And don't forget your angel. He wants a kitten, by the way."

Sam rolls his eyes. Of all the random things she could've picked up from their brains, _that_ 's the one she sends them off with? "Thanks," he says dryly.

~~~

Cas picks them up just outside the door. "I smote the demon."

"Great," Dean says. "Can we get out of here now?"

"Yes," Sam answers, a little quickly. When Cas and Dean turn to him, he says, "Please?"

They land in the bunker and Sam sits Dean down at the table. "Truth or dare," he says. "But stupid questions – favorite color, that kind of stuff."

"Fine," Dean says. "Let's get this over with."

"What's your favorite color, Dean?"

"Red." 

Sam can see a small portion of the spell evaporate, and he feels better about it. "Okay, your turn."

"Nah," Dean says. "Just keep 'em coming so we can burn through this."

"No, you have to ask me questions, too," Sam says. "I lowered my protection spell when we went back through the curtain. I didn't want you to have to do this alone."

Dean swallows loudly and closes his eyes. "You didn't have to do that."

"I know," Sam says, waiting for Dean to open his eyes and meet them. "I wanted to."

Dean nods. "All right, what's your favorite color?" 

"I like all of them."

"What?" Dean smiles in disbelief, and Sam feels a lot better about his plan.

Sam shrugs. "I just figured they all exist for a reason, so you should like them equally."

"That makes no sense," Dean says. "But it clearly means asking you your favorite stuff isn't going to do much."

"Okay, so what?"

"Well, bigger truths are worth more," Dean says. "So let's do some of the embarrassing ones. What's your favorite part of fucking an angel?"

Sam chokes, his mouth trying to get the words out through his surprise, and nothing comes out but a garbled mess.

"What was that?" 

"I think it was three different answers trying to come out at once. His wings, watching his celestial body when he comes, and the way he cleans up afterwards."

Dean nods. "Yeah, those are all pretty good ones."

"Okay," Sam says, thinking fast because it's going to take a lot to keep up with Dean in this sort of game. "What's your favorite physical asset of Cas's?"

"Those thighs," Dean answers immediately, and then looking a little sheepish. 

"What?" Sam asks. "That's a good answer."

"I would've said 'his eyes' if I wasn't under the spell," Dean answers. "His eyes are pretty great, too, but his thighs – do you think Jimmy was a biker or something?"

"Yes," Cas answers as he comes into the room, a six-pack of Meinie's in tow. "His preferred method of exercise was cycling."

Dean's blushing. Sam has been known to blush, too, but he doesn't actually turn pink the way Dean does. It's cute. He takes the beer Cas hands him and clinks necks with Dean, taking a long swallow. The amount of spell that burned off with the sex questions was astronomically more than the "what's your favorite color" question, and he knows the quickest way to get this over with is to find ways for them to offer up the hard information.

"Ask me why I run," he tells Dean. 

Dean stares at him for a long moment. "You don't have to, Sam."

Sam shakes his head. "I know. I want to. And it's not what you think."

Dean wets his lips and takes a deep breath, sighing it out slowly. "Why do you run, Sam?"

"Because I am trying to protect us. Every time I've ever taken what I wanted, Dean, it has ended in disaster. And not just fuck up _my_ life disaster, but full-blown apocalypse disaster. If I could keep myself away from temptation, I thought maybe I could stave that off. But now I think that the reason all those things led to disaster was because they were substitutes for what I really wanted. The only thing I ever really wanted in my life was you. And I ran because I was sure I would break the world, being in love with my own brother. But maybe I should've been running toward you. Maybe if I'd done that, all those other disasters would've been averted."

Cas stands up from the table and comes to stand behind Sam's chair, leaning down to kiss him on the top of the head. Dean is just staring at him, unreadable. Sam's burning to ask him what he thinks, but it's not his place to pick the truths Dean wants to reveal.

"Let's go to the bedroom," Cas suggests. "It's late, you're both tired, and we can do this with more comfort there."

Dean nods, pushing up out of his chair and grabbing his beer. Sam leaves his on the table – it's mostly finished anyway – but grabs the rest of the sixer.

They strip off quickly, throwing their clothes on a pile in the corner, and climb into bed. Dean goes first and Cas takes the middle. Sam follows, curling up next to Cas with his head on Cas's shoulder. It feels safe. 

"Ask me why sex with you is hard," Dean says. Sam swallows. He doesn't think he wants to hear this, but if it's what Dean wants to tell him, he has to suck up his reservations.

"Why is sex with me hard?" Sam asks, staring down the length of Cas's body, noticing his thighs in particular – not something he would've specifically called out before. Maybe Dean has a fetish.

"Because it reminds me that you're not my mental version of you – you're _you_. You surprise me every time, Sam. And sure, I'm not saying there's not guilt and shame, there's plenty of that, but I don't think that's all that weird under the circumstances. The thing that makes it hard is when you do something that cuts through the guilt and shame and makes me want it despite the fact that you’re my brother."

"What do I do that makes you want it?" Sam asks, the question out before he can stop it, regret immediately following the curiosity that made him ask. Dean answers without hesitation, of course.

"When you're all dominant. When you tell Cas what to do to me. When you fuck me on my back and _watch_ me, and then go so slow I'm crazy for it."

"I'm sorry," Sam says, keeping his eyes down. "I shouldn't have."

"Nah," Dean asks. "I think that's probably the best idea. That shit's hard to talk about otherwise. What do you like?"

The vagueness of the question gives Sam some room to answer; apparently the looser the question, the more wiggle room you have with the spell.

"I like fucking you on your back, too. You're so fucking gorgeous, Dean." He clears his throat. He hadn't meant to let that one slip out. "I like being in the middle, too. And making Cas come by playing with his wings."

Cas huffs out a laugh that makes Sam's head jiggle. He lifts his head and sees Dean looking up at Cas, too. "What about you, Cas?" Sam asks. "What do you like?"

Cas shrugs, smiling down at them. "I like all of it."

"That's a cop-out," Dean says. "We like all of it, too, or we wouldn't do it. But there's stuff we like better. You gotta tell us what that is for you. What's better than good?"

Cas's face crinkles up in concentration, and Sam's pretty sure he's going through every act of sexual intercourse they've had since the beginning. Man, he loves that angel. Someday, he might even say that out loud. It hits him – that is probably the thing with enough mojo to end the spell. He waits for Cas's answer, though, because he definitely wants to hear what sexy thing an angel might really like.

"I enjoy directing both of you, because you both respond very eagerly." Sam's face goes really hot at that. "I enjoy holding you down, Sam," and Sam ducks his head because he really gets off on Cas holding him down. His face is about to burn off. "I enjoy using the dildo to massage your prostate, Dean." Dean's eyes are down, and his face and neck are a bright pink. Cas made him come six times in a row once, and Sam has never seen anything like it. Dean passed out after. It was amazing.

But wait – that's not… "No, Cas. We get that you like doing things to us. What do you like that we do to you? Your favorite things can't be giving us pleasure."

Except clearly they can – and his own favorite things involve the way he can make Cas or Dean's bodies do something unexpected under his hands. "Wait, let me rephrase. Clearly those are some of your favorite things. But what are your favorite things that we do to you?"

Cas contemplates this for long enough that Dean's face turns almost all the way back to its normal color. "I enjoy when you groom my wings. And I like it when you hold onto them when you penetrate me from behind. Either of you."

Dean'd done it first, almost totally by accident. Cas's nearly bucked him off – apparently Dean hadn't fucked Cas in all the time they were together, which really should've been Sam's first clue that Dean liked bottoming more, but it'd taken weeks for that light bulb to come on.

But Cas'd come almost immediately when Dean had grabbed his wings, so Sam tried it the next time he fucked Cas, slowly, a little at a time, until Cas's entire celestial body was lit up like a Christmas tree. It was amazing.

"So, is there anything you want to try that we haven't done?" Dean asks, and Sam blinks in surprise, because he's not a big fantasizer when he's having actual sex regularly, so he hasn't really thought about it. 

"I'd like to tie you down," he says, flinching because he would _never_ have brought that up without the truth spell. There's too much baggage. "But I wouldn't, if you didn't want me to."

Dean nods. "I… don't think I could do that. But you could hold me down, I think." Sam groans. He's getting hard thinking about it.

"What about if Cas held you down while I fucked you?"

"Yeah," Dean says. "Yes, fucking absolutely."

Sam hmmms. The image is stuck now, and he'd be putting the moves on Dean already if he couldn't see the last vestiges of the truth spell on Dean. "What about you? What do you want to try?"

"Double penetration," Dean answers immediately, not even going red in the face. "I think I could take both of you."

 _Fuck._ This is not where he expected this truth spell to take them. "Cas?" he asks. "Anything you want?"

He isn't really expecting anything; Cas is game for anything they want to try, but he has never brought anything to the table. Sam has always assumed he has no real experience to go on, but Cas is pretty resourceful, so when he answers, "Chocolate," Sam does a double take. 

"What, like, eating chocolate off each other?" Dean asks, because of _course_ Dean's had more than one type of sex involving food.

"Writing in chocolate on the body," Cas answers, and Sam is dumbfounded that he has such a specific request. He makes a note to go looking for good chocolate. He's thinking Switzerland, maybe, or Belgium, but he has never researched chocolate before. Sweets are Dean's thing, not his.

Dean yawns, and Sam can't help but follow suit. A second ago he was ready to climb on top of Cas, but it's all drained out of him. There's still a little bit of the spell hanging around, so he asks Dean, "Do you love me and Cas?"

And Dean answers easily, "With everything I got, kiddo," which should probably seem weird but is just Dean, and Sam laughs. 

"Do you love me and Cas?" Dean asks, and Sam smiles as his eyes slide shut.

"More than anything in the world."

~~~


	78. Chocolate Covered Anything Day

~~~

Castiel isn't sure whether the odd truth-telling spell is supposed to have changed anything, but it does – a little. They don't speak about it, but they change the way they do things sexually. They all know new favorites, only some of which have been tried, so all it takes is a little maneuvering for Castiel to understand that Dean wishes for Castiel to hold him down, or that the two of them want to groom his wings, or that Sam desires to be in the middle.

Harder is his own desire with the chocolate. Dean makes a few joking attempts, but he doesn't truly understand Castiel's wish, so after a few polite rejections, he stops asking.

Sam may understand a little better – he starts to research chocolate and very quickly comes to understand that there is enough to know about chocolate that he could study it for longer than culinary school and not know all its secrets. He asks Castiel a few questions, pointed, about flavors and beans, but he does not understand the entirety of Castiel's wish either, so Castiel simply requests Sam to share what he has learned, and he will take on the necessary preparations himself. Sam happily turns over his research and returns to more mundane practices for culinary school.

What neither of the Winchesters understand is that it is not about the chocolate. Or rather, it is only half so. Much like the variety of beverages Castiel has learned to fine tune to best complement both the food and the drinker, chocolate depends entirely on what you are eating it with.

Sam sweats. A lot. Humans in general sweat (not one of Castiel's favorite things about humanity), but Sam runs very hot, and any exertion at all will cause him to break out in a sweat. He most often tastes salty during their sexual escapades, and while Castiel enjoys that (and it will make the chocolate decisions for him easy), there is another scent to him that Castiel finds much more intoxicating. 

There is a delicious earthiness to Sam when he is warm under layers of clothing, but not sweating. Castiel has often leaned in close to Sam for no other reason than to fill his senses with that smell. There is nothing so delicious. With any luck, he will be able to take advantage of that scent before the sexual exertion requires a change in flavor to match the rising salinity.

Dean is sweet. Not in temperament, which is obvious to anyone who knows him, but in aroma. It is, in part, simple transference of the unseemly amount of sweets Dean likes to eat. But there is a spiciness to Dean that can't be explained by his diet, and if it is genetic, it is not something Sam has been blessed with. It is the spiciness in particular that makes Dean taste good under Castiel's tongue, and the part that Castiel will cater to, as he chooses his chocolate.

~~~

It takes more than a week, many hours spent flying across the world in search of people who understand chocolate, and a surprising amount of time in an art supply store, but Castiel has finally gathered everything he needs. He saves his surprise until a weekend, when both Dean and Sam will have the day off and they have no other plans.

He has to wait until midday – he would have written on them both in their sleep, but he needs Sam to get dressed and move around the bunker to develop that heady warm smell, so he waits a couple of hours after they get up and putter around the bunker. 

Without a word, he takes Sam's hand as he's about to start experimenting on something in the kitchen and leads him to the library, where Dean was contemplating working on the Impala, but hadn't gotten up the impetus to move, and one Winchester in each hand, he leads them to the bedroom.

There are sixteen different types of chocolate, each with its own brush and in its own little pot over a candle – not enough to keep them at the right temperature, his grace will have to do that, but they add a beautiful glow to the room that means they will not need to have the lights on. 

Castiel directs Dean to undress himself, taking the time to undress Sam slowly. He needs to capture that essence of warmth, and if Sam divests his clothing too quickly, it will dissipate. He starts with the flannel, having Dean hold it while Sam takes off his t-shirt, and then replaces it, trapping the heat in before it goes too far. 

Allowing Dean to strip Sam's jeans and underwear gives him room to work, and he takes the first pot of chocolate and starts writing on Sam's neck, first Dean's name, and then Enochian words that have meanings too complex for English translation but speak to how much Sam is loved, how intertwined his fate is with his brother. 

The second pot of chocolate is slightly less sweet than the first – Dean's sweet tooth means everything needs more sugar to taste right – and Castiel simply writes his own name along Sam's collarbone, listening to Sam's uneven breathing that means he is aroused at the contact.

He leads Sam over to the bed, setting him in the middle of it, sitting up, and bringing Dean to his side, indicating the writing for him. He leaves the flannel in place, creating the space inside it to trap that essence, and leans in to lick the chocolate off Sam's collarbone.

"Cas?" Sam asks, but Castiel has only a moment before he has more work to do, and the intense taste of Sam underneath the smooth accent of the chocolate is too much for him to tear himself away for explanations. 

It takes a few moments for him to lave away the chocolate from Sam's skin, and they are both breathing hard when Castiel is finished. He would kiss Sam, but that would alter Sam's tasting, and Castiel has this very carefully planned out.

"No kissing," he says when he finally comes up for air. "At least, not until you get to taste everything."

"But –" Dean says, and Castiel knows he's meant to interrupt. Dean would not complete the thought if given the space to do so, but it's rude not to allow Dean to at least look like he is protesting.

"No," Castiel says. "After. It is important your palates stay clear."

As expected, Dean looks less than put out by that, and Castiel takes Sam's jaw in hand, turning Sam's head so he can look him in the eye as he says, "Your turn, Dean."

Sam's eyes droop as soon as Dean's mouth is on him, licking his neck and immediately making sounds of pleasure – surprisingly difficult to tell if it is the type he usually emits while eating or while having sex. Perhaps they are more similar than Castiel realized.

He leaves the bed to get the third pot of chocolate, heating it in his hand as he brings it back to the bed. Sam is mewling, a soft sort of sound of both satisfaction and dissatisfaction; it is enjoyment of all that is happening and yet a yearning for something more. Sam almost always yearns for something more.

It isn't hard to oblige him in this case; Castiel starts drawing a sprawling network of vines, starting at his chest and leading down to his penis. This is another place where Sam's earthiness is thick and Castiel has to switch back to the first pot to trace delicate scrolls on it. 

By the time he is finished, Dean has cleaned Sam's neck and clavicle, and is licking the cap of Sam's shoulder as they both watch his handiwork with dark eyes. Castiel pulls the flannel off, depositing on the side of the bed and pushes Sam back and up the bed, until he is lying on his back and there is room for Dean between his knees and Castiel behind him. 

Castiel arranges Dean, letting him choose his own path down Sam's body as goes back to the dresser for two more pots and brushes. He scrawls his own name in large letters starting at Dean's mid-back, down the curve of his spine. Then he takes the other brush, setting it between his teeth as he gently pries Dean open. He does not have much dexterity with his mouth, but there is enough to create a line of chocolate leading to his destination, and that is all that is needed.

Dean is not even halfway down Sam's body when Castiel returns to taste his name on Dean's skin, a dark, dark chocolate with bitter notes that offsets Dean's natural sweetness and brings the spiciness to the front of his palate. It is perfect. 

Matching Dean's pace is simple enough – Castiel made sure to keep his own path relatively simple, while Dean's is intricate and expansive. He can keep his tongue affixed to Dean's back as Dean shifts over Sam, and keep an eye on Sam, too, who is starting to sweat, which means another shift in flavor for the next round. If all goes to plan, Dean will do the same, and then there will be a beautiful mess.

When Dean finally makes it to Sam's penis and takes it into his mouth, Castiel gives it just a moment before he traces his tongue down the last little bit of his chocolate trail. He has done a fair amount of research about sex between males of the human species, and they have tried a large portion of things he has seen or read about. The only one none of them has attempted is rimming, and Castiel is unsure how it will be accepted. 

It takes a couple of minutes for Dean to take Sam in his mouth – he decides to lick around the outside first, groaning again, which Castiel will take as a compliment. When he finally starts the intended blowjob, Castiel tongues his way down the rest of his path, sucking the chocolate off Dean's skin before licking the delicate skin of his anus. Dean jumps, which could be good or bad, but he continues his blowjob, which is good, and Castiel continues on his own work, tasting parts of Dean he had only guessed at before. The blend with the chocolate is not quite right – the spiciness here is heavier and needed a bolder mixture – but Castiel knows, now, what to expect.

Except for Dean's reaction, which is that his body starts to tremble. Partly, Castiel thinks, from having to hold himself still and partly from having to concentrate on giving pleasure to Sam while accepting pleasure from Castiel – it is Castiel's experience that the human brain is usually incapable of doing both at once, and he expects that before too long, Dean will be unable to continue with his blowjob.

Because he enjoys teasing Dean when he can, he keeps up until just after that point – when Dean's mouth goes slack and Castiel has to put his arms around Dean's chest to support him – and finally lowers Dean to the bed, rolling him onto his back. 

"Please get the lube, Sam," Castiel requests, and it takes Sam a moment to gather himself, but he obeys as Castiel grabs the next pot in line and heats it just to liquid – he doesn't want to scald Dean's skin – and throws the entire thing at Dean. It covers his chin, neck, and right shoulder, arm, and pectoral muscle. A perfect painting, Dean in Chocolate. It's a mixture with chilis, a complement to the spiciness hiding amidst the sweat already drying on Dean while Sam opens him, quickly but thoroughly. 

"Come on, already," Dean says, and that's all it takes for Sam to move in, give up on niceties like stretching and preparation, and penetrate his brother, slowly but steadily pushing in until he's fully embedded in Dean's body. 

"Hold," Castiel says, smiling when he hears Dean's huff of dissatisfaction. He is always in a hurry to move when they get here, but both he and Sam know that Dean reacts better to a slower pace, one that allows the prostate massage to work its magic before speeding things up.

Sam is rocking into Dean just a little, just enough motion to keep Dean whining for it, and Castiel hurries to get the pot of extra light milk chocolate, dumping it haphazardly in the space between Sam's shoulders, where the sweat is glistening. 

"Taste your brother," he instructs, and Sam' bends down to get a taste of the chocolate on Dean's shoulder, licking in earnest once he tastes it, rocking up into Dean a little as he strains to reach the chocolate higher on his body. 

Castiel does his own tasting while preparing Sam to take him, stretching quickly and thoroughly while he tastes the perfect combination of Sam and chocolate on his back. The saltiness of the sweat is exactly complementary to the milk chocolate's smooth creaminess and Castiel enjoys feeling Sam's muscles working under his tongue as they start to work in concert. 

This combination is an easy favorite of theirs; Dean on his back, Sam in the middle, and Castiel penetrating Sam. It never takes long for Sam and Dean to achieve orgasm this way, and Castiel enjoys watching the way their bodies fit together. With the chocolate added in, there is a new addition of smell and taste where there used to be only touch, sight, and sound. 

As often happens with Sam and Dean, one orgasms first and the other follows immediately after. Castiel has often wondered if it is the product of their deep connection, or if it is simply that they are attuned to each other in such a way that they can tell when it is about to happen. He has been able to gauge this appropriately only once, and it was with Sam, who has a much clearer body language when it comes to orgasms. 

He lets them rest, tasting the chocolate on Sam's back one last time while he waits for Dean to complain about their combined weight. Sam surprises him, though, dislodging himself and Castiel by association, and performing a complicated falling process that brings Castiel to the bed with him, in between him and his brother.

"By my count, that was six different flavors," Sam says. Of course he was counting. Sam has an amazing amount of mental fortitude. Dean's instincts, in sexual activity as in everything else, are honed to a razor's edge, but he isn't usually capable of thinking clearly. Sam is always thinking, always calculating the best path, the right move, cataloging every reaction to every touch. He eventually loses control, but not until he means to, every time.

"Seven," Castiel corrects. "I used two different flavors on Dean's back."

"Hmm," Dean says. He's smiling, following the conversation but without much to add.

"So what are the other nine for?"

Castiel spreads his wings, blanketing the Winchesters with them. "I don't know what my own body tastes like, so I needed to provide a variety."

Sam and Dean's eyes meet across Castiel, and there is two seconds of silent communication before they both bolt out of the bed, gathering as many pots as they can and throwing their contents at the spread of Castiel's wings. 

"Look at that," Dean says, standing back to look at their handiwork. 

"Pretty as a picture," Sam adds, setting down the last two pots. He'd written something on one of Castiel's feathers and dripped the final pot across Castiel's hips.

"Ready, Cas?" Sam asks, and Castiel knows he will never be ready for these two, but he knows the appropriate response, and he feels in this case, perhaps it is true.

"I was born ready."

~~~


	79. Winter Solstice

~~~

Kelsey doesn't generally go for men. She's a five on the Kinsey scale – four and a half, tops. Sure, there was that Bobby Galvin in sixth grade and Jorge Whats-his-name when she was a junior in high school, but those were flings. Nothing.

Sam Winchester is nothing, too, but mmm, there's something about him. 

He's a loner, for one. That's always been her type. He's not exactly smoking behind the school with a leather jacket and a bike sort of loner, but he's mysterious all the same, and it's the aloofness that doesn't come off as haughtiness that's got her all dizzy.

His knives are impeccably sharpened, every day. He's perfectly polite when people talk to him, but never starts conversations or offers up any information about himself. The intense way he pays attention in class and works with every ingredient is sexy as hell. It's too bad Kelsey found the girl of her dreams a couple of years ago and married her.

Still, she likes a challenge, and she invites Sam out with them after class one day.

"Come on," she says. "It's the longest night of the year! Time to go out early and stay out late."

She can see he wants to – she's got a sense for those things. She wheedles him a little more. "Come on, one drink! We're your classmates – don't you want to get to know us? You'll be up against us all on Top Chef in a couple of years."

He laughs at that and nods his head. "Yeah, all right. One drink. Let me call my ride."

"You don't drive?" she asks, because the campus isn't particularly accessible without a car.

"We…" For a second he looks sad, which is intriguing, but then he says, "We share a car. He picks me up after class, usually."

"Oh," she says, shrugging. "Roommate?" 

"Yeah," he answers. "So can I catch a ride to the pub with you?"

"Of course!" She smiles at him. This is going to be _so fun_.

~~~

The ride to Schatzi's is too short for her to get any good information out of him. He doesn't even answer her simple questions, evading "where do you live?" with "nearby" and "where are you from?" with "all over."

"Ooh," she says. "That sounds like a fun story."

He laughs, looks down and picks something off his jacket. "Not really. Dad moved around for work, we went with him."

"Oh," she says, putting as much 'I'm so sorry, that's so sad, don't you want to tell me more' into it as she can. He stays silent.

He stares out the window for a bit, and she gets the feeling he does that a lot. Sounds like he spent a lot of time in the passenger seat. After a minute or two, he remembers something approximating manners and asks her where she lives.

"Sleepy Hollow," she says, and he laughs. 

"Really?"

"Yeah," she answers. "My wife works downtown and we needed somewhere roughly halfway that she could take the train in. It's an hour drive for me and an hour train ride for her. Seemed fair. I'm sure we'll move downtown when I start working. Trying to figure out where I want to get a sous chef gig, though. Do you know who you want to work with?"

Sam shrugs, and it looks like he might actually not answer the question, but then he goes with the vague, "Whoever'll take me, I guess."

Sam's working on being tops in their class; he's precise (his butchering skills are crazy good, she might actually ask him to tutor her on that), he's intense, he's focused… she's pretty sure he could work anywhere. "Come on, that's nuts. Anyone'd be thrilled to have you. Who do you want to work with? Where do you want to live?"

He shrugs again. "I don't care about where. I guess… I really like Grant Achatz. I'd probably work with him if I had the chance."

She's heard of Grant, though not much more than what was on Chef's Table. He seems pretty cool. She doesn't have any more time to quiz Sam, though, because they've pulled up to the beer garden and Jon and Amanda are waving to them as they park. 

They join the group in the back, eight tables pushed together and lots of noise. There are appetizers on the table already, pretzels and kartoffelpuffer and sauerbraten meatballs… apparently everybody's hungry today. She orders a smorgasbord and Sam gets some pierogies and when they come, they're put in the middle of the table and they all pick – even Sam, which she's glad to see.

Ta'Shawn is talking about his dad's soul food again, some weird recipe with pineapple, and they go through several different suggestions before Sam says, "maybe frying the pineapple would fix the texture issue" and the whole table goes silent and stares at him. He shifts under the attention, reaches out for a piece of cheese nervously, and then Ta'Shawn breaks out into a huge grin and says, "Maybe, man, I'll try that," and punches him on the arm. 

The punch was probably a bit much – they test each other in stupid ways like this all the time – but Sam doesn't flinch at all. He grins and eats his cheese and doesn't even seem to notice he got punched hard enough to bruise.

~~~

The crowd shifts over the next hour and a half. People who were really only along to be polite throw their money on the table and say their goodbyes. People who are already on their way to being hardcore alcoholics are on their fourth beer and have shifted to smaller booths to sit together in small groups. It's only Sam, Kelsey, Ta'Shawn, Amanda, Gang, and Priya left with the remainders of all the food, and they shift to one table, letting the staff take the others back and clean them for other customers.

Priya and Ta'Shawn are making up Chopped baskets with crazy ingredients and making Amanda and Gang tell them what they'd make and then scoring them. Sam is watching with interest, but he hadn't spoken up about wanting to be the third contestant, so they went on without him. Kelsey grabs her beer – still only her first, she has to drive tonight – and leans in toward Sam, intending to narrate the competition like she's Ted Allen.

"I should go," he says, politely setting his beer down. His third, she's noticed, and he's still stone cold sober, which probably means he's already an alcoholic, though she can't imagine he could concentrate the way he does if that's the case.

"Oh, come on, Sam," she says, "you haven't hung out with us all year. We just want to get to know you a little bit."

"I'm not that interesting," he mumbles, pushing his stein away. 

Kelsey raises her hand to the barmaid and orders a couple of tequila shots. "One shot," she says, knowing she'll regret it if Helena has to come get her because she can't drive, but knowing she'll regret it even more if she had the opportunity to crack Sam Winchester and missed it.

"You're not going to get me drunk," he says, and ohhh, this could be interesting.

"Sounds like a challenge," she says. "Make it six!" she calls after the waitress.

"Oh, come on," he says. "I have to get home."

"To what?" she asks. If he's got a roommate, he probably isn't married, but she tries anyway. "Is there a Mrs. Winchester?"

"No," he answers, giving up no more information. Something pings her about it, though, and so she goes for teasing with her next question.

"Is there a Mr. Winchester?" 

"No," he says, though he looks like he wants to say more but restrains himself. 

"Girlfriend? Boyfriend? Cat? Tell me about this roommate of yours."

"Whoa, slow down," Sam says. The waitress shows up with their shots and Kelsey lines them up between them. 

"Question or shot," she says. "Tell me about your roommate."

He picks up a shot and upends it, no salt or lemon, even. Kelsey blinks. "Do I get a turn?" he asks, and she waves her hand as a 'go ahead.'

"Tell me about your wife."

Kelsey smiles. That's easy. "Her name is Helena, she's an editor at Bloomsbury, she loves what she does, and I love her. We have a cat named Boxer who's getting old and cranky, and we're thinking of maybe getting a kitten to get her to loosen up a bit. We share a smallish apartment but we're not really there much, so that's okay. She likes to look up expensive apartments on the West Side for when we're both high-powered New York celebrities."

Sam just stares at her. The thing is, she could keep talking. She could talk all day about Helena and their lives together, and their stupid little rituals like making the bed at night, right before they climb into it together. But she has no reason to hide that. And as much as she wants to know all about Sam Winchester, she wants to know why he has to hide even more.

"Is there someone special in your life, Sam?" she asks.

He takes another shot and drinks it fast, at least making a face this time and sucking the lemon wedge.

She smiles. There's no way he can take six tequila shots without loosening up at least a little bit, and there's no way she's going to drink rather than tell the truth. 

"If you had your choice, who would you work with when you graduate?"

Kelsey shakes her head. If he'd ever spoken to her in class, he would know this one. "Jonathan Waxman. He's awesome."

"Of course," Sam says. "I can see that in your flavor choices."

She'd ask him what he means by that, but it's obvious – just like Sam's obvious love of the weird means he's into Grant Achatz. It takes a minute to think of another question. Turns out prying information out of other people is hard. Who knew.

"Do you have any pets?"

Sam reaches for a shot and then, when his hand is halfway across the table, reconsiders. "Yeah. Well, sort of. My roommates have a dog, and I love it, but I'm not really there enough to bond with it the way I'd like to. She's really taken to…" He hesitates and Kelsey leans in. What in the world could be difficult about telling her the names of his roommates – plural, which she noticed he hadn't said before. "…Dean. Which is weird, because he's always said he hates dogs."

 _Dean._ That's not so interesting. She'd been hoping for more information than that, but multiple roommates and a dog is a lot, for Sam Winchester.

"Do you have any hobbies besides cooking?" Sam asks, which is pretty funny, because almost no one who's serious about culinary school does anything but cooking.

"Not really. The little amount of free time I have outside school and work goes to my wife and her hobbies. She likes shopping vintage clothing stores."

Sam nods, like he might understand, so she returns the favor. "What about you? What do you and those roommates get up to when you're not here?"

He smiles, opening his mouth for half a second, and then reaching for the shot and drinking it in a fast gulp. Huh. 

"What's the name of your first restaurant going to be?" he asks, and it's pretty funny – most of the serious students in their class do have that planned out, but she's not that way. 

She shrugs. "Dunno. It'll depend on where I am, and what the property looks like, and what I end up cooking. Things change, and I don't want to get in a rut because I have some restaurant concept locked into my brain."

Sam smiles at that. "That's smart. I think being flexible is a good quality in a chef. Well, in anyone, really."

There's something wistful about the way he says it. She thinks he might be softening, just a bit, so she tries again. "How about it, Sam. Tell me about that significant other of yours."

He reaches for a shot and she takes his hand before he can get. "I promise I don't bite. Tell me, Sam."

He squeezes her hand, letting it go and taking the shot, another suck on the lemon afterwards. "It's… best that I don't."

"Your roommates, then," she says. "I just want to get to know you a little. It's only fair – I've been an open book."

He nods his head, smiling sadly at her. "Thanks for that. You seem really cool."

"So do you, Sam, that's why I'm trying to get to know you. How about this: where did you learn to concentrate like you do? I've seen focused chefs before, but you're like you're in your own world. It's insane. Where does that come from?"

Sam swallows and looks away nervously, swiping his hair back from his face with his left hand. She's always wondered about that – he's right handed, but that one thing he does completely unconsciously with his left. Maybe she should ask him about that next. Before she can grill him, though, he says, "So. Um. My roommates' names are Cas and Dean."

She leans forward, putting her face in her hands and listening raptly. He laughs. "Dean works in a diner, and likes old-fashioned Americana-type food. Cas… is a little weird, but he's really good at pairing flavors, especially drinks and food."

"Uh huh," she says. "Good friends? Thinking of going into the business together?"

He smiles down at the table. "Dean and I have known each other since I was born. Cas only came onto the scene a few years ago – well, seven or eight years ago now, I guess. But he's like family."

"Which one of them picks you up?"

"Cas." He looks down at his watch. She surreptitiously checks her phone – it's almost ten. "Dean's probably getting ready for bed. He works the early shift at the diner." 

"What diner?"

"Millie's," he says, and then looks surprised, like some valuable piece of intel has just slipped out. She makes a note of the name. She doesn't know any local diners named Millie's, but he hasn't really told him where they live, either. When she looks it up later, the nearest one is two hours away, in Connecticut. Not exactly what she'd call "in the area" but if he traveled a lot as a kid, maybe a two hour commute isn't a big deal.

"So what does Cas do?" 

Sam shrugs. "Not much. Watch the dog. Wander around. I think he wanders a lot while I'm at school and Dean's at work."

"So you guys support him. Is he looking for work?"

Sam starts to back his chair up, and she hurries in with an apology. "No – no, not prying, it's no big deal, you don't have to tell me. Sorry, it's too personal, I shouldn't have asked."

Sam relaxes, slouches back down into his chair. Amanda and Priya are currently getting into a fight about James Beard winners this year and Sam seems to be able to follow their conversation, pay attention to Kelsey, and look around at the exits every few minutes, like he's longing to leave. He's like some kind of super-spy.

"Cas is like family," Sam says. "He's had a rough time the past few years. We all have. So we all just do what we can do, you know?"

She nods. "It sounds like you're a great friend to have, Sam."

Sam smiles, sadly again – that sad smile is way too familiar on his face, she thinks. And even though she's started to hit on all the stuff that makes Sam Winchester so mysterious, but she's suddenly not all that interested in making him spill his guts. She's still curious, but it's tempered by the fact that he needs his privacy, for whatever reason. 

"Listen," she says, "I'm sorry for grilling you. I get that you can't really share everything, and I shouldn't have pushed. But if you ever need someone to talk to – I'm your girl. I'm a really good listener."

"Yeah," he says, covering her hands with one of his huge ones. "I can tell. You seem really great. I should go, though."

"Already?" she asks, looking down at the last two shots. She shouldn't have even one if she wants to drive home, though she supposes she can pawn them off on Gang. He drinks like a fish, but, like Sam, stays seemingly sober.

"Yeah, Cas is here." 

As soon as he says it, she sees an odd looking man near the back door, glancing over the crowd. He seems curiously out of place; not just at the bar but… everywhere. Like he doesn't belong on the planet. It's obvious, now, what Sam meant when he called Cas "weird."

His eyes finally land on Sam, and they light up, like Sam is the only thing in the world Cas might ever want to see. He makes his way to their table, a direct line, and anyone in his way gets out of it pretty quickly. 

"Ready to go?" Cas asks when he reaches them. "Dean's almost asleep. You'll miss him if we wait much longer."

Kelsey can feel her eyes opening too wide in surprise, and she covers as quickly as she can. "Wouldn't want to miss Dean," she says, smiling at Sam.

He ducks his head. "Don't mention that to anyone, please?" 

She crosses her heart. She has a feeling this is the start of a pretty great friendship, and it's pretty clear that you don't betray Sam Winchester and get out of it with all your parts intact, if Cas has anything to say about it. 

"It was good talking to you, Kelsey," Sam says, getting up and putting a hand on Cas's shoulder. "See you tomorrow."

"Looking forward to it," she says, smiling. "Nice to meet you, Cas."

Cas looks at her intensely for a moment and says, "Nice to meet you, Kelsey."

Kelsey pulls out her phone and texts Helena. _On my way home. Think I made a friend. Can't wait to tell you about him._ When she looks up again, Cas and Sam have disappeared.

~~~


	80. Christmas Eve

~~~

Art commissioned from [@semirahrose](http://semirahrose.tumblr.com/), who is amazing and produced this perfectly fluffy piece for this, the final chapter. [More information on commissions here.](http://semirahrose.tumblr.com/post/131516812468/c-o-m-m-i-s-s-i-o-n-s-cute) I cannot tell you how much I love this piece or how great [@semirahrose](http://semirahrose.tumblr.com/) was to work with.

~~~

Christmas Eve is quickly becoming Sam's favorite holiday. Cas seems to have spent all year looking up every tradition anyone has ever created and has them doing every single one of them.

They're in new pajamas _and_ ugly Christmas sweaters, with Cas-made warm drinks – chai and hot cider and steamed milk – watching the Doctor Who Christmas specials one after the next. Cas took one sip of his drink and set it down so he could put his hands in Sam's hair and, not to be outdone, Dean turned around and wrapped himself around Sam, staring at him instead of the TV.

"Knock it off, dude," Sam says. Dean staring at him always makes him uncomfortable, but usually it's in bed, when they're already doing stuff that makes him embarrassed. This is different, and makes him squirm in a totally different way. "I'm trying to watch, here."

Sam's got to give him credit – Dean _tries_ to watch, but it's never really been his thing. "We can switch to the Grinch, if you want," Sam offers. Dr. Seuss isn't really his favorite, but they all make sacrifices on holidays. 

"Nah," Dean says. "I'm just too excited about presents to watch TV."

"In some places, opening a single gift on Christmas Eve is a tradition," Cas says, and Dean raises his eyebrows at Sam. He knows they're going to end up opening at least one present. There are tons of things he's excited to see them open under the tree – a record player and all of Dean's top ten albums, twenty pairs of fluffy socks for Cas… but he know which ones he's giving them tonight. He goes to the tree and picks out the smallest of all his gifts and hands it to Dean. 

Dean turns it over in his hands, shaking it and putting it up to his ear. "S'heavy," he says. 

"Mmmhmm," Sam answers. He knows Dean likes to guess, but he's not planning on giving out any information and there is no way Dean could possibly guess what's in there.

"Come on, give me a hint," Dean whines. 

Sam shakes his head. "Just open it, already."

"You suck," Dean says, but rips into the wrapping paper. When he takes the top off the box, his eyebrows draw down in confusion. "Um, thanks?"

Sam knows what it looks like – a scrying ball – but he also knows what will happen when Dean finally touches it. "Go on," he says. "Take it out."

Dean rolls his eyes, but tips the ball out into his hand. It's just the size of a baseball, but since it's made of quartz, his hand drops with the weight of it. "Jeez, couldn't find something a little light–"

His eyes get huge as the orb starts to glow, and then go soft as he sees what's in there. It's one of Sam's earliest memories. He's three, or maybe four, and Dean has made him a Noah's ark set made out of newspaper, complete with pairs of every animal Sam knew at the time. The origami is a little amateur, but Dean was only seven or eight. Sam still has one of the origami unicorns tucked away in his favorite book.

"Sam," Dean says, his voice small. "This is amazing." 

Sam grins, leaning in to kiss Dean on the cheek, which he's sure Dean only allows because he's already embarrassed about the gift and can't blush any harder.

"Here, open mine," Cas says, giving Dean a tubular leather case. 

"Cas, why didn't you wrap it?" Sam asks

Cas frowns at him. "The point of wrapping is to keep the present a secret, is it not? It's in the case, so it is already a secret."

Sam laughs. Someday he may try to explain to Cas, but today is not that day. "Go on, Dean. I'm dying here." There are ten other cases under the tree, and most of them have his name on them. 

Dean just rolls his eyes and pops the lid on the case, shaking it to get the contents out. There's a scrap of paper and a braid of some herb – sweetgrass, by the smell.

"Ooh, what is it?" Sam asks, trying to read over Dean's shoulder. It's Aramaic, he thinks, though he's less fluent at that than many magical languages. 

"It's a spell for Dean to communicate with the Impala."

Sam blinks. _The Impala can communicate?_

"Of course, Sam. She has a soul, or something like it. She has been loved, and loved well for her entire existence. I don't know what kind of communication it would be, but I imagine if anyone can find some common ground with her, it would be Dean."

Dean is still looking down at the parchment, stunned. "I…" He looks up at Cas, handing the scroll to Sam so he can hug Cas. "Thanks, Cas. I love it."

Cas hugs Dean back, resting a hand on the back of his neck. "You are most welcome, Dean. And I love _you_ , so I am glad to hear I chose well."

He digs his phone out of his pocket, swiping at it behind Dean's back and handing it to Sam. "Merry Christmas, Sam."

Sam looks down at the phone, surprised to see a conversation with Claire. He's about to hand it back to Cas, letting him know he's made a mistake, when he sees his name. He scrolls up to the top of the most recent conversation, and his breath catches as he reads.

  
  
  
  
  
  


"Sam?" Dean's voice holds a note of concern, so Sam knows he's probably looking pretty shell-shocked.

"Cas, you didn't have to do that."

"Of course not," Cas says, letting go of Dean to hug him. Sam can't help holding on desperately tightly. "That's why it was a gift. You deserve to be able to share your happiness with your friends."

Dean grabs the phone out of Sam's hand and scrolls through the texts, barking out a short laugh after a minute, and grinning. "Thanks, Cas. That means a lot to me too."

"I know, Dean. That's why I love you."

"That's why you love me _best_ ," Dean says, and Sam rolls his eyes. 

"No, Dean, I love you and Sam both," Cas says, and Sam smacks Dean when he laughs.

"You're ridiculous, Dean."

"I know," Dean says. "But let's see what kind of name-calling you get up to when you get my presents. This way."

Dean starts walking out of the foyer where their gigantic tree is (big enough to touch the ceiling, seriously, Sam doesn't even want to _know_ how Cas got it in here – and the whole room is one big pile of dirt with a path to the steps and a tree skirt big enough to keep their pile of presents from getting muddy) and Sam and Cas share a glance, shrug, and follow him.

He leads them through the winding corridors of the bunker, down two flights of stairs, and through a secret door Sam had never even guessed was there, though now that he's got his super-awesome-reality-sensing abilities, he can see the edges of the spell that's covering it up. 

"How'd you even find this?" Sam asks.

"Magnus's journal," Dean answers. "I was clearing out some of the dustier bedrooms and I found it tucked into a nightstand."

There's a workshop full of magical shit, which Sam's certain is his gift, but Dean walks right through it like he has no idea what he stumbled into. He probably doesn't, and it's still a great present for Sam, though he'll probably avoid mentioning it directly. No, Dean winds through two more rooms – a full-blown machine shop! – and opens the door to something that looks and smells a little like a cave.

"This is for you, Cas," Dean says, and as he moves out of the way, Sam can see racks and racks of wine, champagne, port, and brandy. There must be over a thousand bottles in here. 

"Wow," Sam says. "Wow, Dean, this is incredible. And nothing dated after 1958!"

"Nothing after '56, actually," Dean says, and Sam's impressed that he looked at enough bottles to realize that.

Cas is going bottle by bottle, resting his fingers on each one, like he can taste them through his fingertips. Maybe he can, Sam's never really understood how his sense of taste works. Seven-dimensionally, probably. 

Sam pokes through a few of the bottles, choosing a '54 champagne with fancy script on the label and holding it up for Cas's approval. "Tonight?" he asks.

Cas comes over and touches his fingers to it, closing his eyes for a second. "No, this is too dry." He takes the champagne and replaces it, letting his fingers trip over bottles as he walks down the rows of wine and spirits. Finally he stops and pulls out a fat-bellied bottle of port. "Here, this will be good for a nightcap."

"Perfect," Dean says. "Time for Sammy's present."

"Thank you for this, Dean," Castiel says, grabbing Dean's waist and pulling him in for a kiss. "I love it."

"Yeah, of course," Dean says, putting a hand on Cas's neck and bumping their foreheads together. "But wait 'til you see Sammy's."

They head back up toward the parts of the bunker Sam's more familiar with, and at the end of a long stretch of hallway – far around the curve of the observatory – Dean stands in front of a door, vibrating with excitement. "Merry Christmas, Sam."

Dean steps out of the way and Sam takes a second to just be grateful for where they are, together in their stupid sweaters and sappy smiles and Sam about to open a door in their home, behind which is apparently some great surprise for him. He can't even imagine what it might be. 

"Go on," Dean says. "It's good, but it's not worth getting all worked up over."

Sam pushes open the door and sees a small sitting room, a couple of antique-looking chairs, a weird table with glasses on it, and oddly, an Ikea-looking shoe rack. There's another door on the other side of it, and when Sam walks through it, there is the biggest bed he's ever seen, in a room so large that makes it seem like it's normal-sized. There are three dressers, two nightstands, a door to a bathroom standing open, and one of those little couch/bench things at the foot of the bed. There's also a squashy armchair tucked in a corner of the room with a perfect view of the bed – whether that's for Cas to watch them sleep or Dean to watch him and Cas fuck, he's not sure. Probably both.

It's got flannel sheets and three sets of pillows and when Sam turns around, there's a huge flat screen TV on the wall. He wants to crawl in right now. "Dean," he says, walking over to the bed, and slipping in where the covers were artfully pulled back. It's perfectly soft, not usually what he likes for sleeping, or what he used to like, before he started falling asleep in the arms of his brother and their angel. 

He can put his head on the pillow, lie absolutely flat, and his feet don't hang off the end of the bed. He hasn't experienced this since he was a teenager. He stretches, for the hell of it, arching his back and throwing his arms above his head. 

"Move over," Dean says, pulling back the covers.

"No," Sam says, sitting up abruptly and throwing Dean down onto the middle of the bed. "But thanks, Dean, this is amazing."

He leans over Dean, waits for him to turn a little pink like he always does when Sam just stares at him, and leans in for a kiss. It's slow and sweet, and no matter how much Dean wants to make it dirty, Sam doesn't let him. He still has to give Cas a present, and he knows exactly which one it is.

"Stay here," Sam says, as he hurries past Cas holding the bottle of port. "Why don't you pour us that nightcap while I get you your gift."

Cas moves to do exactly that, following Sam out into the sitting area and pulling out a couple of smallish wine glasses. Sam doesn't even know what kind of glassware to use with port or wine, and clearly that is a deficiency he is going to have to fix immediately.

~~~

When Sam returns, the gift hidden under his sweater, Dean and Cas are already tucked into bed with their port, naked. It makes him laugh; his gift probably shouldn't have been saved for last, but there was no way to know that Dean's bunker exploration had meant this amazing suite was his gift. Their gift – this is definitely for all of them, though clearly finding a bed big enough for Sam to stretch out in was the reason Dean went looking.

Sam can't help the swell of affection for Dean, without the usual exasperation that comes with it. It's a pure feeling of love for everything Dean does for him, for the way he's always front and center with Dean. It's never been that way for Sam. Dean's his bedrock, his foundation. He's not front and center because he's just… everything. Everything in Sam's life rests on Dean, and he doesn't know if that's fair, but it's the way it is.

The kitten squirms under his sweater and Sam squeezes her a little. He's got a million tiny scratch marks just from the walk from the door to the bed, and he can't wait to get her out of there.

"Close your eyes, Cas."

Cas does as he's told, and when Sam lifts his sweater to pull the kitten out, Dean actually gasps in surprise like some kind of fainting maiden. Cas opens his eyes, looking at Dean with concern and then doing a double-take to the tuxedo kitten picking up its paws awkwardly and trying to pounce on the fluffy down comforter.

"She is for me?" Cas asks, and Dean looks up at Sam in alarm. Sam knows Dean's allergic to cats, but Sam has already thought of that. He rests his hands on Dean's shoulders and breathes a few words of Egyptian in his face.

"Yeah, Cas, she's yours." 

Cas has picked her up and they are currently in a staring contest. The kitten is a little shaky, still, a little awkward in its movements, not sure how everything works, exactly, and she flops down and nearly out of Cas's hands when Cas wins. 

"Thank you, Sam. I love her very much."

Sam beams. He'd had an unfair advantage, with the witch's proclamation, but it's not like he didn't know how Cas felt about animals. He'd been debating getting Cas bees, but he didn't know where they could house them. He's going to work on that for next year, because he still thinks Cas would enjoy that as a present and he's pretty excited about the prospect of fresh honey.

"I have to get her litter box and stuff," Sam says, "but I'll be right back."

Sam dashes down the hallways, grabbing the necessities for the kitten and placing them strategically in the bedroom before stripping in a hurry and jumping into bed. There's a glass of port on the nightstand for him, and he takes it and scoots in next to Cas, sitting up with his back against the headboard.

"Merry Christmas," he says, lifting his glass in a toast. Dean and Cas clink with him and they all take a slow sip, watching the kitten continue to attack the comforter. Sam shifts his foot to the side and the kitten attacks it, trying to bite Sam's big toe with his tiny mouth and sharp little teeth.

He slides down the headboard, shifting sideways so he's lying half on Cas, and looks at the brand on the back of his hand. It's changed, slightly. It's simpler. "What's your symbol mean these days, Cas?"

Sam shifts his port to his other hand so Cas can look at the symbol, and is pleased by Cas's small huff of laughter.

"It says Castiel, humanity's angel, defender of Earth, bound to the Winchesters by love."

Sam hums, he likes that. "We love you too, Cas."

Dean wiggles his toes under the covers and the kitten pounces on them. "Yeah, you're lucky we do, angel."

"Believe me, I know," Cas says, wiggling his own toes. "And I will never be anything but grateful for it."

"Don't know how we're going to top this year," Dean says, and Sam just shakes his head and takes another sip of port.

"That's what I thought last year," he says. "And you guys surprised the hell out of me. I'm feeling pretty sure this stuff just keeps getting better and better."

~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, you guys, WE MADE IT!!!! Thank you so so so much for coming along on this ride. I cannot tell you how much fun it's been, and what a delightful surprise - this is not at all where I expected this story to go. Many thanks to many people, but my flailosaurs especially, in particular alpacapanache, saekhwa, meansgirl, clavally, and of course, calypsid for pushing me along on this one. It meant a lot, and probably meant that the thing got finished at all. <333


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